The Moon puts on her silver veil And shawl of lace: and with far lutes And violins in many a dale The thrushes blow their woodland flutes. Oh, and with many a ghostly cheer, Under the moon the forest heaves And sways with ecstasy to hear The eery laughter of the leaves. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...HE'D BE NOTHING BUT HIS VIOLIN by MARY KYLE DALLAS COME UP FROM THE FIELDS FATHER by WALT WHITMAN THE PUMPKIN by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER THE STREET CHILDREN'S DANCE by MATHILDE BLIND THE DROWNED BOY by JOHN GARDINER CALKINS BRAINARD A MEMORY by WILLIAM STANLEY BRAITHWAITE ROGER AND DOLLY by HENRY CAREY (1687-1743) TOWARDS DEMOCRACY: PART 2. I KNOW THAT YOU ARE SELF-CONSCIOUS by EDWARD CARPENTER |