THE TRUCE 0’ NIGHT 
     
    
   
   
    
     Lo, it is dark, 
     
    

    
     Save for the crystal spark 
     
    

    
     Of a virgin star o’er the purpling lea, 
     
     Or the fine, keen, silvery grace of a young 
     
     Moon that is hung 
     
    

    
     O’er the priest-like firs by the sea; 
     
    

    
     Lo, it is still, 
     
    

    
     Save for the wind of the hill, 
     
    

    
     And the luring, primeval sounds that fill 
     
     The moist and scented air—- 
     
    

    
     ’Tis the truce 0’ night, away with unrest and care! 
     
    
   
   
    
     Now we may forget 
     
    

    
     Love’s fever and hate’s fret, 
     
    

    
     Forget to-morrow and yesterday; 
     
    

    
     And the hopes we buried in musky gloom 
     
     Will come out of their tomb, 
     
    

    
     Warm and poignant and gay; 
     
    

    
     We may wander wide, 
     
    

    
     With only a wish for a guide, 
     
    

    
     By heath and pool where the Little Folk bide, 
     
     We may share in fairy mirth, 
     
    

    
     And partake once more in the happy thoughts of earth.