See yonder fire! It is the moon slow rising o'er the eastern hill. It glimmers on the forest tips, and through the dewy foliage drips In little rivulets of light, and makes the heart in love with night.
To stare into the after-light, the glitter left on the lake's surface,When the sun has fallen behind a wooded island;To follow the drips sliding from a lifted oarHeld up, while the rower breathes, and the small boat drifts quietly shoreward;To know that light falls and fills, often without our knowing.theodore roethke
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