Slowly，silently，now the moon

Walks the night in her silver shoon；

This way， and that， she peers， and sees，

Silver fruit upon silver trees；

One by one the casements¹ catch

Her beams beneath the silvery thatch²；

Couched in his kennel³， like a log，

With paws of silver sleeps the dog；

From their shadowy cote the white breasts peep

Of doves in a silver-feathered sleep；

A harvest mouse goes scampering⁴ by，

With silver claws， and silver eye；

And moveless fish in the water gleam，

By silver reeds in a silver stream.

Walter de la Mare， 1873 - 1956