Tranquil in the twilight dense
By the spreading branches made,
Let us breathe the influence
Of the silence and the shade.

Let your heart melt into mine,
And your soul reach out to me,
'Mid the languor's of the pine
And the sighing arbute-tree.

Close your eyes, your hands let be
Folded on your slumbering heart,
From whose hold all treachery
Drive forever, and all art.

Let us with the hour accord!
Let us let the gentle wind,
Rippling in the sunburnt sward,
Bring us to a patient mind!

And when Night across the air
Shall her solemn shadow fling,
Touching voice of our despair,
Long the nightingale shall sing.