midnight
The moon is sailing in all its grandeur overhead . Below , the world is white with its glory . The music of many rivulets , as they rush sleepless to the river , sounds sweeter far than even the strains of the band within . It is past midnight . The stars are growing pale . Already the `` world 's heart '' begins to throb , `` And a wind blows , With unknown freshness over lands and seas . '' Something in the silence and majesty of the hour , and something , perhaps , within her own heart , brings the unbidden tears to Dulce 's eyes .