O gentle moonlight, pour on me thy knowledge
unbiased to men , cattle or trees strewn in wilderness.
Let me ride along, on thy pure uncolored sledge
thru’ wind free, unequalled by suns or million stars.
I ride with you into the gallery of gallant few,
joyously we roam amongst the paintings untainted
and I withdraw when clock strikes four with morning dew,
they shine the same and we glide with glory we attained.
We pass the farm of melons millions ripe
smiling we at art of lord, who never left easel for once.
Here we stay just as before ; within and without
attuned to the unuttered symphony in heart.