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Impressions II. La Fuite De La Lune
by Oscar Wilde

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, 10
And to her sombre cavern flies,
Wrapped in a veil of yellow gauze.