When pails empty the last brightness
Of the well, at twilight-time,
and you are there among women -
O mouth of silence,
Will you come with me, when I sign,
to the far green wood, that fences
A lake inlaid with light?

To be there, O, lost in each other,
While day melts in airy water,
And the drake-headed pike - a shade
In the Waves' pale stir!
For love is there, under the breath,
As a coy star is there in the quiet
Of the wood's blue eye.