The dying winds of ebbing day

  Rolled o’er meadows their wending way;

  The distant peaks, each darkened spire,

  Was bathed in waves of amber fire.

  But not a setting beam could glow

  Within the shadowed hearts below,

  Where looped the path in darkness hid,

  round the souls dispirited.

  A sylph danced there in darkest night,

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  upon the winds in soft moonlight

  Round many fallen abodes,

  on lost paths, forgotten roads,

  across vast and silent creeks

  and through the gaps of mountain peaks.

  The sylph danced across the skies,

  with silver fires in her eyes.

  Highest of all, where eagles glanced,

  Where moonlit wanderers waved and danced,

  The dreamer's eye could barely view

  The midnight heaven’s navy blue

  She danced across the star's parade,

  from open light, to cloistered shade

  till morning came with dewdrop sheen,

  she came to rest in meadows green.

  Around her, blooms of many dyes

  Waved in the wind's autumn sighs.