Deep In The West A Berry-Coloured Bar Of Sunset Gleams; Against Which One Tall Fir Is Outlined Dark; Above Which - Courier Of Dew And Dreams - Burns Dusk'S Appointed Star. And Flash On Flash, As When The Elves Wage War In Goblinland, The Fireflies Bombard The Stillness; And, Like Spirits, O'Er The Sward The Glimmering Winds Bring Fragrance From Afar. And Now Withdrawn Into The Hill-Wood Belts A Whippoorwill; While, With Attendant States Of Purple And Silver, Slow The Great Moon Melts Into The Night - To Show Me Where She Waits, - Like Some Slim Moonbeam, - By The Old Beech-Tree, Who Keeps Her Lips, Fresh As A Flower, For Me.