Dance, dance the moon in late night
Wearing the veil of mid winter fogs.
The livings are in dead sleep,
Dead are partly alive in gentle wind,
All winged messengers of belated hour
Frisking elsewhere stealing over the shadows.
Stage in haven looking best on mandarin mists ,
Inviting self with millions winking jewels engraved,
High time to set the trimming feet on rhythmic spree
And be mystic blonde restless in the hallowed dale.