Elysium

I love this holy hour the best,
when moonbeams gleam and owls screech,
while mortals lay them down to rest,
and weary waves weep on the beach.

I’m happy in this tranquil place
that's far away from humankind,
where I can gain, by God's good grace,
possession of a poet's mind.

It’s here I wander, like a cloud,
that someone said, 'does float on high,'
unseen, as ghost in sacred shroud,
as silent as a sparrow's sigh.

I love to while away the time
composing 'neath these broad-leaved bowers,
where I can regulate my rhyme,
and shelter from autumnal showers.

It’s here I tread untrodden trails,
alone, among the trembling trees,
while sweet Aurora fades and fails,
and twilight breathes her blissful breeze.