Starlight.

The evening star will twinkle presently.     The last small bird is silent, and the bee     Has gone into his hive, and the shut flowers     Are bending as if sleeping on the stem,     And all sweet living things are slumbering     In the deep hush of nature's resting time.     The faded West looks deep, as if its blue     Were searchable, and even as I look,     The twilight hath stole over it, and made     Its liquid eye apparent, and above     To the far-stretching zenith, and around,     As if they waited on her like a queen,     Have stole out the innumerable stars     To twinkle like intelligence in heaven.     Is it not beautiful, my fair Adel?     Fit for the young affections to come out     And bathe in like an element! How well     The night is made for tenderness - so still     That the low whisper, scarcely audible,     Is heard like music, and so deeply pure     That the fond thought is chastened as it springs     And on the lip made holy. I have won     Thy heart, my gentle girl! but it hath been     When that soft eye was on me, and the love     I told beneath the evening influence     Shall be as constant as its gentle star.