Yet Nightly Pitch My Moving Tent, A

Time Is Eternity Begun.

Night Is The Time To Weep,to Wet With Unseen Tearsthose Graves Of Memory Where Sleepthe Joys Of Other Years.

Dark-green And Gemm'd With Flowers Of Snow, With Close Uncrowded Branches Spread Not Proudly High, Nor Meanly Low, A Graceful Myrtle Rear'd Its Head.

When Evening Closes Nature's Eye, The Glow-worm Lights Her Little Spark To Captivate Her Favorite Fly And Tempt The Rover Through The Dark.

Blue Thou Art, Intensely Blue; Flower, Whence Came Thy Dazzling Hue?