AT the end of the road through the wood 
I see the great moon rise. 
The fields are flooded with shine, 
And my soul with surmise. 
What if that mystic orb 
With her shadowy beams, 
Should be the revealer at last 
Of my darkest dreams! 
What if this tender fire 
In my heart’s deep hold 
Should be wiser than all the lore 
Of the sages of old!

by Bliss William Carman