Chapter III

What is there in the moon, that swims
A naked bosom o'er the limbs,
That all the wood with magic dims?
While still, while still,
Among the trees whose shadows grope
'Mid ferns and flow'rs the dew-drops ope,--
Lost in faint deeps of heliotrope
Above the clover-scented slope,--
Retreats, despairing past all hope,
The whippoorwill, the whippoorwill.

FOOTNOTE:

[52] By permission of the author, and publishers, G. P. Putnam's Sons, N. Y.

DIXIE.