A TOUCH OF MOONLIGHT

Wherever the moonlight touches

A meadow or oft tread dale,

Little, grey rabbits and birds

Each morning tell the tale

Of how, during the long night,

The land took on a softer shade,

Even the humble mushrooms

Seemed to shine within the glade;

Silken-spun lacework of spider's webs

Glistened with strands, dewy-pearled,

And a faint, cool, bluish mist

Around trees slowly swirled

Just before the warm sunshine

Chased the moonlight away.

So, if you listen carefully

You might hear those birds say

Praiseworthy things to rabbits

About what happened overnight,

Excited at what resulted

From the softest touch of moonlight.