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Oscar Wilde - Impressions II. La Fuite De La Lune
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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.
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