The moon is up in splendor,
And golden stars attend her;
The heavens are calm and bright;
Trees cast a deepening shadow,
And slowly off the meadow
A mist is rising silver-white.
Night’s curtains now are closing
'Round half a world reposing
In calm and holy trust:
All seems one vast, still chamber,
Where weary hearts remember
No more the sorrows of the dust.
_Translation of_ C. T. BROOKS. MATTHIAS CLAUDIUS, 1740–1818.