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.