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Publié par Moicani

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    O 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.

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