III.

Horn of a new moon golden 'mid gold, Broken, fluted in the tarn's close skies; Shattered and beaten, wave-like and cold, Crisper my love's locks fold on fold, Cooler and brighter where dreaming she lies!

Silvery star o'er the precipice snow, Mist in the vale where the rivulet sings, Dropping from ledge to ledge below, Where we stood in the roseate glow, Softer the voice of her whisperings!