Author Robert Louis Stevenson The moon is sinking — the tempestuous weather Grows worse, the squalls disputing our advance; And as the feet fall well and true together In the last moonlight, see! the standards glance! One hour, one moment, and that light for ever. Quite so. Tags Short Poems Rate this poem Select ratingGive it 1/5Give it 2/5Give it 3/5Give it 4/5Give it 5/5 No votes yet Rate Log in or register to post comments