Tis moonlight, summer moonlight,

All soft and still and fair;

The solemn hour of midnight

Breathes sweet thoughts everywhere,

But most where trees are sending

Their breezy boughs on high

Or stooping low are lending

A shelter from the sky

And there in those wild bowers

A lovely form is laid;

Green grass and dew-steeped flowers 

Wave gently round her head.

Emily Bronte