LA FUITE DE LA LUNE

by: Oscar Wilde

      O 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.

'La Fuite de la Lune' was originally published in the Irish Monthly, February, 1877, as part III of Lotus Leaves.

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