II La Fuite De La Lune

To outer senses there is peace,
   A dreamy peace on either hand
   Deep silence in the shadowy land,
Deep silence where the shadows cease.

   Save for a cry that echoes shrill
   From some lone bird disconsolate;
   A corncrake calling to its mate;
The answer from the misty hill.

   And suddenly the moon withdraws
   Her sickle from the lightening skies,
   And to her sombre cavern flies,
Wrapped in a veil of yellow gauze.