Midnight in the Garden

The midnight hours were passing And sleep still past me flew; My mind—so keenly working— Could hear the dropping dew. So from my bed arising I open wide the door— The western park revealing, And hills that heavenward soar. Across the Eastern ranges The clear moon coldly shines On bamboos, loosely scattered, And trailing mountain vines. And so intense the stillness, That from the distant hills I hear the pigeons cooing, And murmuring streams and rills. For hours I have been thinking, As in a silent dream, And now beyond the mountains I see the dawn's first gleam.