When the folding-star had kindled
In the embers of the west,
And the happy day was over,
Quietly we sank to rest,

Thinking we should sleep till daybreak;
But we wakened all too soon,
As above the ridge of Hareshaw
Stole the cold white witches' moon —

Stole the icy moon and held us
Tranced as we with numb surprise
Saw the cold estranging glitter
Of each other's alien eyes.