The full September moon sheds floods of light, And all the bayou's face is gemmed with stars, Save where are dropped fantastic shadows down From sycamores and moss-hung cypress trees. With slumberous sound the waters half asleep Creep on and on their way, 'twixt rankish reeds, Through marsh and lowlands stretching to the Gulf. Begirt with cotton fields, Anguilla sits Half bird-like, dreaming on her Summer nest. Amid her spreading figs and roses, still In bloom with all their Spring and Summer hues, Pomegranates hang with dapple cheeks full ripe, And over all the town a dreamy haze