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 corn-crake calling to its mate;
The answer from the misty hill.
And suddenly the moon withdraws
Her sickle from the light'ning skies,
And to her sombre cavern flies,
Wrapped in a veil of yellow gauze.