Music and Song

Will you sleep these dark hours, maiden,
      Beneath the vine that rested
Its slender boughs, so purply-laden,
   All the day around that elm
      Nightingale-nested,
   Which yon dark hill wears for an helm,
      Pasture-robed and forest-crested?
   There the night of lovely hue
   Peeps the fearful branches through,
   And ends in those two eyes of blue.

[Kelsall, 1851]