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.