Chapter IV: A Cradle-Song of the Night Wind

The pines have gathered upon the hill
To watch for the old-new moon;
I hear their murmuring--“Hush, be still!
’Tis coming--coming soon!”

The brown thrush sings to his meek brown wife
Who broods below on her nest:
“Of all the world and of all my life
’Tis you I love the best!”

But the baby moon is wide awake,
And its eyes are shining bright;
The pines in their arms this moon must take
And rock him to sleep to-night.