Light falls like leaves, A whisper through the boughs, On an argent plain, Filling the fields shock shy. The elegance of the lilacs’ dance, Cascades of violet air, And roses crowned with dew, Await the morning’s smile.

Oh open to the spectral haze, That swathes this woodland fair; Nature, in her modesty, Wears shimmering veils of care. Let twilight welcome shadows down, While we choose nightingale’s song, Through twilight, and dreams of the moon’s crown— Wander, we have done no wrong.

• Robert Graves