TENDER and pale the young moon shone, —
The time of dreams stole o'er the earth,
Stilling the greenwood's sounds of mirth,
Hushing the wild birds to repose,
Save the nightingale, who warbled on,
Leaning his breast against a rose;
'T was then from out a forest bower
Through shadows peered one wakeful flower,
Her azure robe with night-dews wet,
Watching a star through the purple even;
And the star, though shining in highest heaven,
Smiled down on the violet;
For a fairy mirror the flower held up, —
He saw himself in her brimming cup.

My soul is like that flower to-night,
Watching thy pathway through the sky,
The heaven of genius, far and high,
And waiting for thy smile of light
To pierce the shades that compass her,
Thy meek and hidden worshipper,
To where, with incense-breath up-stealing,
And brimming o'er with the dew of feeling,
That soul-flower faintly mirrors thee,
Thou risen star of Poesy!