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Wilfrid Scawen Blunt - A Nocturne
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The Moon has gone to her rest,
 A full hour ago.
 The Pleiads have found a nest
 In the waves below.
 Slow, the Hours one by one
 In Midnight`s footsteps creep.
 Lovers who lie alone
 Soon wake to weep.
 Slow--footed tortoise Hours, will ye not hasten on,
 Till from his prison
 In the golden East
 A new day shall have risen,
 And the last stars be gone,
 Like guests belated from a bridal feast?
 When the long night is done
 Then shall ye sleep.
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