How different it is in the city ! It is late , and the crowd is gone . You step out upon the balcony , and lie in the very bosom of the cool , dewy night as if you folded her garment about you . Beneath lies the public walk with trees , like a fathomless , black gulf , into whose silent darkness the spirit plunges , and floats away with some beloved spirit clasped in its embrace . The lamps are still burrning up foreshortened , and now lengthening away into the darkness and vanishong ,while a new one springs up behind the walker , and seems to pass him revolving like the sail of a windmill .