She leaned out into the midnight.
And the summer wind went by;
The scent of the rose on its silken wing
And a song its sigh.

Deep in the tarn the mountain
A mighty phantom gleamed,
Shadow and silver and floating cloud
Over it streamed.

And, in depths below, the waters
Answered some mystic height,
As a star stooped out of the depths above
With its lance of light.

And she thought, in the dark and the fragrance,
How vast was the wonder wrought
If the sweet world were but the beauty born
In its Maker's thought.