Changed

Fair is the night, ay, fair and deep;The moonlight drowns the vale;My eyes are heavy, but not with sleep,And the night-moth droops her sail.

There's not so much as a sigh in the air;The stars are ghostly and few;And silver-pale are the meadows, whereSo coldly drops the dew.

But the haunting shadows are never still,They wander all night alone,And the sleepless insects drone and shrillIn a lonely monotone.

Ah! long ago was a summer nightLike this, and yet other far,For the moonlight flowed, and the air hung light,And happy was every star.

The dew that night was a blissful balm,And seemed on the heart to fall;The calm was an overflowing calm,And love was the life of all.

Then piping choirs shrilled high, as now;But hushed is the sylvan fluteOf the nightingale that dreamed on the bough,And a tenderer music is mute.

'Tis the same save that, and yet all is strange,As the soul of the night were fled;Yes, I look and look, but can see no change,Except that my world is dead.