In the Mountains
The courtyard is an oasis of quiet
Surrounded by the clamour of the town;
Shadows of pines are woven on the ground,
Bright and beauteous is the full moon.
Nobody knows in the mountains of tonight
What scenery there will be:
Pine-trees perhaps, and moonlight,
And deeper quiet.
O, to swim in the waves of the moon,
To become a gust of ethereal wind
And frolic in deep mountains
And rouse the spring-intoxicated pines!
I would puff a fresh green needle
Towards your window, so it would alight
Gently, like a tender sigh—
Your tranquil slumber not to stir.