A murmurous moonlit garden,
A murmuring summer sea,
Not Arcady nor Arden
Is fairer unto me. A path of silver shimmer,
Beset on either hand
By wooded spaces dimmer
By wavering shadow-land. A silence filled with stirring
Of many leaves asleep,
With faint detected whirring
Of moths that, circling, sweep. Main of all charms so binding,
The sound, the shade, the light,
I feel around me winding
The unnamed scent of night.