The world is drowsy, the winds asleep,
On the sward of the sky the star-blossoms peep,
And the grey Moon moves with his silver scythe
The pallid flowers of light to reap.
The world is drowsy, the winds asleep,
On the sward of the sky the star-blossoms peep,
And the grey Moon moves with his silver scythe
The pallid flowers of light to reap.