Great boughs crossed my path; great roots based the tree-columns, and mightily clasped the earth, strong to lift and strong to uphold.

It seemed an old, old forest, perfect in forest ways and pleasures.

And when, in the midst of this ecstacy, I remembered that under some close canopy of leaves, by some giant stem, or in some mossy cave, or beside some leafy well, sat the lady of the marble, whom my songs had called forth into the outer world, waiting (might it not be ?) to meet and thank her deliverer in a twilight which would veil her confusion, the whole night became one dream-realm of joy, the central form of which was everywhere present, although unbeheld.

Then, remembering how my songs seemed to have called her from the marble, piercing through the pearly shroud of alabaster--"Why," thought I, "should not my voice reach her now, through the ebon night that inwraps her." My voice burst into song so spontaneously that it seemed involuntarily.
"Not a sound But, echoing in me, Vibrates all around With a blind delight, Till it breaks on Thee, Queen of Night! Every tree, O'ershadowing with gloom, Seems to cover thee Secret, dark, love-still'd, In a holy room Silence-filled.
"Let no moon Creep up the heaven to-night; I in darksome noon Walking hopefully, Seek my shrouded light-- Grope for thee! "Darker grow The borders of the dark! Through the branches glow, From the roof above, Star and diamond-sparks Light for love." Scarcely had the last sounds floated away from the hearing of my own ears, when I heard instead a low delicious laugh near me.

It was not the laugh of one who would not be heard, but the laugh of one who has just received something long and patiently desired--a laugh that ends in a low musical moan.