Dymer by C.S. Lewis

[1] The host had trimmed his lamp. The downy moth Came from the garden. Where the lamplight shed Its circle of smooth white upon the cloth, Down mid the rinds of fruit and broken bread, Upon his sprawling arms lay Dymer's head; And often, as he dreamed, he shifted place, Muttering and showing half his drunken face.

[2] The beating stillness of the dead of night Flooded the room. The dark and sleepy powers Settled upon the house and filled it quite; Far from the roads it lay, from belfry towers And hen-roosts, in a world of folded flowers, Buried in loneliest fields where beasts that love The silence through the unrustled hedgerows move.