William Griffith

(1876-1936 / United States)


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.

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