The shadowy silken glance of the moon
Creeps in on yellow slippers secretly.
But for faint fickled cry of far-off loon
And some crickets chirping unceasingly
Wigwam's still as the moon man arises,
Golden autumn captured in maiden's arms.
Dumbly in stark anger Brave despises
Moonbeams bestirring the blood of her charms
By dancing on her lips and touching breast
In a burlesque of his jealous protest.