4.3 Silver

Slowly, silently, now the moon

Walks the night in her silver shoon;

This way, and that, she peers, and sees

 Silver fruit upon silver trees;

 One by one the casements catch

 Her beams beneath the silvery thatch;

 Couched in his kennel, like a log,

 With paws of silver sleeps the dog;

 From their shadowy cote the white breasts peep

 Of doves in silver feathered sleep

 A harvest mouse goes scampering by,

 With silver claws, and silver eye;

 And moveless fish in the water gleam,

 By silver reeds in a silver stream.

 – Walter de la Mare