The trees at the end of the lawn were still as cliffs.
He could see a bit of the moon, a white pebble embedded in the blue sky.

On the hour the bell in Switzler Hall tolled.
The strokes sank into the stillness of the afternoon.

For a while in the sunny paths that led to the colleges,
too far away to have their speech or steps on the gravel heard,
girls and men were walking.
Lying on the warm grass he rhymed:

Love, let us lie down here
on the warm grass,
glad that we are so near.

Watch on the shores of sleep
the still waves pass,
feel that sea’s languid air
move in our hair,

and turn at times to trace
in quiet wise,
each other’s smiling face
and sleepy eyes.