Now and again a horse's eye
Shines like a topaz in the dark.
A prowling jackal jars the hush,
The drowsy oxen chump and sigh—
The ghost moon lifts above the bush
And creeps across the starry sky.
Low in the south the "Cross" is bright,
And sleep comes dreamless, undefiled,
Here in the blue and silver night,
In the star-chamber of the Wild.