And as he went his eyes were glazed, 

 Twice, too, he paused like some one dazed 

 And hiccoughed at the moon. 

 Thus thro' the empty ways he passed 

 Until he reached the road at last 

 With fields at either hand, 

 And in the heavens bare and bright 

 The moon stood high and shed her light 

 Upon the silent land. 

 And lo! hard by, a lofty rick, 

 No chance was there of stab or prick, 

 It makes a pleasant bed. 

 And so, within, he burrowed deep, 

 And then upon a fragrant heap 

 He laid his unclean head. 

 The moon was swallowed by a cloud, 

 A nightingale sang sweet and loud 

 From the middle of a wood; 

 From its small body swelled a strain 

 Which flooded all the listening plain. 

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