THE grey and misty night,
Slim trees that hold the night among
Their branches, and, along
The vague Embankment, light on light.
The sudden, racing lights!
I can just hear, distinct, aloof,
The gaily clattering hoof
Beating the rhythm of festive nights.
The gardens to the weeping moon
Sigh back the breath of tears.
O the refrain of years on years
’Neath the weeping moon!