In a haunt in the depths of the forest, Enshrined by a lonely wood lake, With the trees bending over its waters Where moon-crested ripples break, -- Where far down the long arching vistas, The moon-beams all peacefully lie, And the night wind that steals through the tree-tops, Moans softly and lingers by: -- Here, oft in the midnight above me, I watch a lone, hemlock-wreathed star; Till over the sands of the silence, Wave music comes swelling afar. My mind is born on by the singing, A rudderless craft on the deep; And 'tis left by the ebbing waters, To strand on the sands of sleep. |