The mountains have put on Their robes of midnight blue, And settled down to sleep Beneath the sky; The moon, in gold beret, Is coyly peeping through The shirred and ruffled clouds As they drift by. The cowled and cassocked palms, Like cloistered monks in line, Recite nocturnal Mass With rustling breeze; And droning insect choirs, Before a hidden shrine, Religiously intone Responsories. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SEVEN TWILIGHTS: 5 by CONRAD AIKEN CONTRA MORTEM: THE SUN by HAYDEN CARRUTH ROMANCE by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON EIGHTEEN-DOLLAR TAXI TRIP TO TIZAPAN AND BACK TO CHAPALA by CLARENCE MAJOR SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: TENNESSEE CLAFLIN SHOPE by EDGAR LEE MASTERS |