XXNIGHT
The moon calls, and the cloud,
And a voice from the windy hill;
The night cries aloud,
Though the rivers of time are still;
A light as of Heaven doth fill
The calm that the hillsides wear;
On the deeps peace sleeps,
While the mountain keeps
High guard from the troops of care,
Raising his head up till
The stars are caught in his hair.
And a voice from the windy hill;
The night cries aloud,
Though the rivers of time are still;
A light as of Heaven doth fill
The calm that the hillsides wear;
On the deeps peace sleeps,
While the mountain keeps
High guard from the troops of care,
Raising his head up till
The stars are caught in his hair.
21
