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 shrill¹

　　From some lone² bird disconsolate³；

　　A corncrake calling to its mate；

　　The answer from the misty⁴ hill.

　　And suddenly the moon withdraws

　　Her sickle⁵ from the lightening skies，

　　And to her sombre cavern⁶ flies，

　　Wrapped in a veil of yellow gauze.