Thomas Hardy - The Night of the Dance lyrics

The cold moon hangs to the sky by its horn,   And centres its gaze on me; The stars, like eyes in reverie, Their westering as for a while forborne,   Quiz downward curiously. Old Robert draws the backbrand in,   The green logs steam and spit; The half-awakened sparrows flit From the riddled thatch; and owls begin   To whoo from the gable-slit. Yes; far and nigh things seem to know   Sweet scenes are impending here; That all is prepared; that the hour is near For welcomes, fellowships, and flow   Of sally, song, and cheer; That spigots are pulled and viols strung;   That soon will arise the sound Of measures trod to tunes renowned; That She will return in Love's low tongue   My vows as we wheel around.