The Waterfall, Deep In The Wood, Talked Drowsily With Solitude, A Soft, Insistent Sound Of Foam, That Filled With Sleep The Forest'S Dome, Where, Like Some Dream Of Dusk, She Stood Accentuating Solitude. The Crickets' Tinkling Chips Of Sound Strewed All The Twilight-Twinkling Ground; A Whip-Poor-Will Began To Cry, And, Staggering Through The Sober Sky, A Bat Went On Its Drunken Round, Its Shadow Following On The Ground. Then From A Bush, An Elder-Copse, That Spiced The Dark With Musky Tops, What Seemed, At First, A Shadow Came And Took Her Hand And Called Her Name, And Kissed Her Where, In Starry Drops, The Dew Orbed On The Elder-Tops. The Glaucous Glow Of Fireflies Flickered The Dusk; And Fox-Like Eyes Peered From The Shadows; And The Hush Murmured A Word Of Wind And Rush Of Fluttering Waters, Fragrant Sighs, And Dreams Unseen Of Mortal Eyes. The Beetle Flung Its Burr Of Sound Against The Hush And Clung There, Wound In Night'S Deep Mane: Then, In A Tree, A Grig Began Deliberately To File The Stillness: All Around A Wire Of Shrillness Seem Unwound. I Looked For Those Two Lovers There: His Ardent Eyes, Her Passionate Hair. The Moon Looked Down, Slow-Climbing Wan Heaven'S Slope Of Azure: They Were Gone: But Where They'd Passed I Heard The Air Sigh, Faint With Sweetness Of Her Hair.