The Green Shutter

A yellow moonlight rests upon the lake, A proud moon giveth rise back to its side, Where the breeze hath gently swept and rolled to wake: To the sweetness of green, the darkness abide.

The path graced by the beams, a soft unheard light, Where the pale glades twist the haze, as I go, And the garden sways with the night—so they come at sight; While the latitudes swing their lonesome in tow.

Lift the shingle with your pale knees’ gentle grace, And each glimmer shall mark anew this place,— Yet a burst of the night’s strong foliage still sparce, With lilunners that blacken circled to shawl. Though the body must roam where the spirit draws wide. O green, green shadows, my heart does abide!

• John Masefield