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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.