Warm, the deserted evening Closes over the moor. Was it here we walked and were merry Only an hour before? Magic light in the west Smiles over the moorland swells: Fairies invisible roam them Whispering wonderful spells. They whisper, and all grows strange: Shadows are over the stream; The still, gray rocks are a vision, The solid ground a dream. Trees murmur, and hush, and tremble; The west is drained of light. Earth slumbers beneath silence And the beautiful eyes of Night.SourceThe script ran 0 seconds.
The script ran 0 seconds.
