  Darker than midnight, to the midnight sky Rises the valley-ridge with all its pines. Above that gloom a growing radiance shines, Where the full moon floats up invisibly. Now, half-revealed, she lifts her disk on high, When on it, lo! in black and spectral lines One blasted tree so wild a form designs, That fear and wonder hold the watcher’s eye. The minutes pass—and nothing looks the same, But tangled in a web of silver light Lies the great forest, dreaming and at rest. Yet deep in memory’s core abides that sight One moment outlined on the mountain crest— A Shape that writhed upon a pool of flame. |
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