The sun has long been set, The stars are out by twos and threes, The little birds are piping yet Among the bushes and the trees; There's a cuckoo, and one or two thrushes, And a far-off wind that rushes, And a sound of water that gushes, And the cuckoo's sovereign cry Fills all the hollow of the sky, Who would "go parading," In London "and masquerading," On such a night in June, With the beautiful soft half-moon, And all these innocent blisses? On such a night as this is!