The sun has long been set, Upon the hills of landscape, Yet still dost thou remain, All alone amidst the night.
The leaves, they dance with glee, And whisper to the twilight breeze, With every rustling sigh, They turn and wilt and rise.
The moon doth kiss the flowers, To paint the world anew, With silvered light so pure, It glimmers in the dew.
Oh, nature’s hymn so sweet, In every shade and hue, They sing above the world, The nightingale’s soft coo.
Before my heart shall sleep, With every breath I take, I find a world of magic, In every path I make.
- William Wordsworth