"Moons old and new," he cried;
I hurried when I heard him call for me;
He set his basket on the wall for me
That I might see inside
And watch the little moons curl up and hide.
Each one he touched rang softly like a bell;
He pointed out to me
Great harvest moons with russet light in them,
Pale moons to gleam where snows grow white in them,
Red moons for victory,