Luna Dies Et Nox Et Noctis Signa Severa Poem by Thomas MacDonagh

The mountain, rolled in purple, fold on fold,
Delicate, dim, aware,
After the sunset, when the twilight air
Is hush, expectant :-- And below, between
The road-way and the mountain, the thin screen,
Frigid and straight, of trees of darkening green:

Above the middle mountain, sudden, soon,
Half burnished, ready risen, the round moon:
Then burnished full : Splendour and the stars' light:
Light and the night and the austere signs of the night.