Classic Poem

The moonlight is flooding the lake,
The hemlocks are heavy with sleep,
But the winds and the stars are awake—

Winds that are soft as the night;
They brood on the water, and creep
In wandering shimmers of light.

Now all the dark forest is still
Save the dew on the leaves, dropping slow,
And the cry of a far whippoorwill.

A bird, winging south, twitters low,
Unseen in the wonderful sky
Where the little winds, hesitant, go.

Then the ripples die out in the sedge;
The moon swings alone in the lake,
And the hemlocks sleep on by its edge.