painting in oil

gem, a rising and solitary star: soon it would boast the moon; but she
was yet beneath the horizon.
I walked a while on the pavement; but a subtle, well-known scent-
that of a cigar- stole from some window; I saw the library casement
open a hand-breadth; I knew I might be watched thence; so I went apart
into the orchard. No nook in the grounds more sheltered and more
Eden-like; it was full of trees, it bloomed with flowers: a very
high wall shut it out from the court, on one side; on the other, a
beech avenue screened it from the lawn. At the bottom was a sunk
fence; its sole separation from lonely fields: a winding walk,
bordered with laurels and terminating in a giant horse-chestnut,
circled at the base by a seat, led down to the fence. Here one could
wander unseen. While such honey-dew fell, such silence reigned, such
gloaming gathered, I felt as if I could haunt such shade for ever; but
in threading the flower and fruit parterres at the upper part of the
enclosure, enticed there by the light the now rising moon cast on this
more open quarter, my step is stayed-not by sound, not by sight, but
once more by a warning fragrance