Harlequin

Moonlit woodland, veils of green,         Caves of empty dark between;         Veils of green from rounded arms         Drooping, that the moonlight charms.         Tranced the trees, grass beneath         Silent....                 Like a stealthy breath,         Mask and wand and silver skin,         Sudden enters Harlequin.         Hist!    Hist!    Watch him go,         Leaping limb and pointing toe,         Slender arms that float and flow,         Curving wand above, below;         Flying, gliding, changing feet;         Onset fading in retreat.         Not a shadow of sound there is         But his motion's gentle hiss,         Till one fluent arm and hand         Suddenly circles, and the wand         Taps a bough far overhead,         "Crack," and then all noise is dead.         For he halts, and a space         Stands erect with upward face,         Taut and tense to the white         Message of the moon's light.         What is he thinking of, you ask;         Caught you the eyes behind the mask?         Whence did he come, where would he go?         Answers but the resuming flow         Of that swift continuous glide,         Whispering from side to side,         Silvered boughs, branches dim,         All the world's a frame for him;         All the trees standing around         On the fascinated ground,         See him swifter, swifter, sweep,         Dazzling, till one wildest leap...         Whisht! he kneels.    And he listens.         How his steady silver glistens!         He was listening; he was there;         Flash! he went.    To the air         He a waiting ear had bent,         Silent; but before he went         Something somewhere else to seek,         He moved his lips as though to speak.         And we wait, and in vain,         For he will not come again.         Earth, grass, wood, and air,         As we stare, and we stare,         Which that fierce life did hold,         Tired, dim, void, cold.