One moment alone in the garden,
Under the August skies;
The moon had gone, but the stars shone on, -
Shone like your beautiful eyes.
Away from the glitter and gaslight,
Alone in the garden there,
While the mirth of the throng, in laugh and song,
Floated out on the air.
Ella Wheeler Wilcox
In lands I never saw -- they say
Immortal Alps look down --
Whose bonnets touch the firmament --
Whose sandals touch the town --
Meek at whose everlasting feet
A myriad daisy play --
Which, Sir, are you and which am I
Upon an August day?
“Somewhere in la Mancha, in a place whose name I do not care to remember, a gentleman lived not long ago, one of those who has a lance and ancient shield on a shelf and keeps a skinny nag and a greyhound for racing.”