In the Wood, by Madison Cawein

  The waterfall, deep in the wood,
  Talked drowsily with solitude,
  A soft, insistent sound of foam,
  That filled with sleep the forest's dome,
  Where, like some dream of dusk, she stood
  Accentuating solitude.

  The crickets' tinkling chips of sound
  Strewed dim the twilight-twinkling ground;
  A whippoorwill began to cry,
  And glimmering through the sober sky
  A bat went on its drunken round,
  Its shadow following on the ground.

  Then from a bush, an elder-copse,
  That spiced the dark with musky tops,
  What seemed, at first, a shadow came
  And took her hand and spoke her name,
  And kissed her where, in starry drops,
  The dew orbed on the elder-tops.

  The glaucous glow of fireflies
  Flickered the dusk; and foxlike eyes
  Peered from the shadows; and the hush
  Murmured a word of wind and rush
  Of fluttering waters, fragrant sighs,
  And dreams unseen of mortal eyes.

  The beetle flung its burr of sound
  Against the hush and clung there, wound
  In night's deep mane: then, in a tree,
  A grig began deliberately
  To file the stillness: all around
  A wire of shrillness seemed unwound.

  I looked for those two lovers there;
  His ardent eyes, her passionate hair.
  The moon looked down, slow-climbing wan
  Heaven's slope of azure: they were gone:
  But where they'd passed I heard the air
  Sigh, faint with sweetness of her hair.