Poems (Hinchman)/The moon calls, and the cloud

by Anne Hinchman

XX NIGHT

The moon calls, and the cloud,And a voice from the windy hill;The night cries aloud,Though the rivers of time are still;A light as of Heaven doth fillThe calm that the hillsides wear;On the deeps peace sleeps,While the mountain keepsHigh guard from the troops of care,Raising his head up tillThe stars are caught in his hair.