I must be brief:  the twilight shadows grow,
  And steal the rose-bloom genial summer sheds,
And scented wafts of wind that come and go
  Have lifted dew from honeyed clover-heads;
The seven stars shine out above the mill,
The dark delightsome woods lie veiled and still.

Hush! hush! the nightingale begins to sing,
  And stops, as ill-contented with her note;
Then breaks from out the bush with hurried wing. 
  Restless and passionate.  She tunes her throat,
Laments awhile in wavering trills, and then
Floods with a stream of sweetness all the glen.

The seven stars upon the nearest pool
  Lie trembling down betwixt the lily leaves,
And move like glowworms; wafting breezes cool
  Come down along the water, and it heaves
And bubbles in the sedge; while deep and wide
The dim night settles on the country side.

I know this scene by heart.  O! once before
  I saw the seven stars float to and fro,
And stayed my hurried footsteps by the shore
  To mark the starry picture spread below: 
Its silence made the tumult in my breast
More audible; its peace revealed my own unrest.

I paused, then hurried on; my heart beat quick;
  I crossed the bridges, reached the steep ascent,
And climbed through matted fern and hazels thick;
  Then darkling through the close green maples went
And saw—­there felt love’s keenest pangs begin—­
An oriel window lighted from within—­

I saw—­and felt that they were scarcely cares
  Which I had known before; I drew more near,
And O! methought how sore it frets and wears
  The soul to part with that it holds so dear;
Tis hard two woven tendrils to untwine,
And I was come to part with Eglantine.

For life was bitter through those words repressed,
  And youth was burdened with unspoken vows;
Love unrequited brooded in my breast,
  And shrank, at glance, from the beloved brows: 
And three long months, heart-sick, my foot withdrawn,
I had not sought her side by rivulet, copse, or lawn—­

Not sought her side, yet busy thought no less
  Still followed in her wake, though far behind;
And I, being parted from her loveliness,
  Looked at the picture of her in my mind: 
I lived alone, I walked with soul oppressed,
And ever sighed for her, and sighed for rest.

Then I had risen to struggle with my heart. 
And said—­“O heart! the world is fresh and fair,
And I am young; but this thy restless smart
  Changes to bitterness the morning air: 
I will, I must, these weary fetters break—­
I will be free, if only for her sake.

“O let me trouble her no more with sighs! 
  Heart-healing comes by distance, and with time: 
Then let me wander, and enrich mine eyes
  With the green forests of a softer clime,
Or list by night at sea the wind’s low stave
And long monotonous rockings of the wave.