NOCTURNE

The moon hath spread a pavilion

Of silver and of amethyst:

But where is young Endymion,

Where are the lips that should be kissed?

The roof of fleecy cloud is spun,

Of silken light the ropes are trist:

But where is young Endymion,

Where are the lips that should be kissed?

To spite her jealous Lord the Sun

She wears a veil of seagreen mist:

But where is young Endymion,

Where are the lips that should be kissed?

All through the weary hours that run

She keeps the lingering lover’s tryst:

But where is young Endymion,

Where are the lips that should be kissed?

Her gold torch-bearers one by one

Pass from her side and are not missed:

But where is young Endymion,

Where are the lips that should be kissed?

Ah down in moonless Acheron

Pale Prosperine is glad, I wist:

For there is young Endymion,

There are the lips that should be kissed.

Verona