Encinctur'd with a twine of Leaves,
That leafy twine his only Dress!
A lovely Boy was plucking fruits
In a moonlight wilderness.
The Moon was bright, the air was free,
And Fruits and Flowers together grew
On many a Shrub and many a Tree:
And all put on a gentle hue,
Hanging in the shadowy air
Like a Picture rich and rare.
It was a Climate where, they say,
The Night is more beloved than Day.
But who that beauteous Boy beguil'd,
That beauteous Boy! to linger here?
Alone, by night, a little child,
In place so silent and so wild—
Has he no friend, no loving mother near?