Impressions Ii. 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.