ACTUS QUARTUS
Between the islands sheer and steep
Our craft treads noiseless o’er the deep.
Turned to the gold heart of the west,
The sun’s last sigh of love expressed
Ere the lake glimmer, borrow sleep
From clouds and tinge their edges; weep
That night brings love not to his breast,
But only rest.
We move toward the golden track
Shed in the water: we look back
Eastward, where rose is set to warn
Promise and prophecy of dawn
Reflected, lest the ocean lack
In any space serene or slack
Some colour, blushing o’er the fawn
Dim-lighted lawn.
And under all the shadowy shapes
Of steep and silent bays and capes
The water takes its darkest hue;
Catches no laughter from the blue;
No purple ray or gold escapes,
But dim green shadow comes and drapes
Its lustre: thus the night burns through
Tall groves of yew.
Thither, ah thither! Hollow vales
Trembling with early nightingales!
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