South German night, spread out beneath the moon. And mild as if all fairy tales were there; The hours fall from the steeple in a swoon, As if into some deep and hidden lair.-- A murmur and a rustling round the pond, Then silence hangs but empty in the air; And then a violin (God knows from where) Awakes and says quite tranquilly: A blonde-- | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...PSALM 121 by OLD TESTAMENT BIBLE APOLLO by THOMAS HOLLEY CHIVERS WAR IS KIND: 1 by STEPHEN CRANE TO ALTHEA, FROM PRISON by RICHARD LOVELACE THE MOURNER A LA MODE by JOHN GODFREY SAXE VOICES by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS ODES: BOOK 1: ODE 18. TO THE HON. FRANCIS EARL OF HUNTINGDON by MARK AKENSIDE |