The forest was a shrine for her, A temple richly dressed; And worshippers the tall trees were, Each to his prayer addressed. Scarce dared I lift my eyes, or stir, So deeply was I blessed. She took to herself the waning day Like a round twilight moon, Serenely rising far away— A silvery moon of June, That whiter than the morning is And fairer than the noon. The dim world darkened round her—all Was night save where she shone, Save where she stood so slim and small The shadowed earth upon; As though the earth were new, and she Would light its fires anon.SourceThe script ran 0.001 seconds.
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