by Clark Ashton Smith
The silence of the silver night
Lies visibly upon the pines;
In marble tame the moon declines
Where spectral mountains dream in light.
And pale as with eternal sleep
The enchanted valleys, far and strange,
Extend for ever without change
Beneath the veiling splendors deep.
Carven of steel or fretted stone,
One stark and leafless autumn tree
With shadows made of ebony
Leans on the moon-ward field alone.