The yellow moon is a dancing phantom
Down secret ways of the flowing shade;
And the waveless stream has a murmuring whisper
Where the alders wade.
Not a breath, not a sigh, save the slow stream's whisper:
Only the moon is a dancing blade
That leads a host of the Crescent warriors
To a phantom raid.
Out of the lands of Faerie a summons,
A long strange cry that thrills thro' the glade:--
The grey-green glooms of the elm are stirring,
Newly afraid.
Last heard, white music, under the olives
Where once Theocritus sang and play'd--
Thy Thracian song is the old new wonder--
O moon-white maid!
--_William Sharp_