Within the wood behind the hill
— The moon got tangled in the trees.
Her splendor made the branches thrill
— And thrilled the breeze.

The satyrs in the grotto bent
— Their heads to see the wondrous sight.
" It is a god in banishment
— That stirs the night. "

The little satyr looked and guessed:
— " It is an apple that one sees,
Brought from that garden of the West —
— Hesperides. "

" It is a cyclops' glaring eye. "
— " A temple dome from Babylon. "
" A Titan's cup of ivory. "
— " A little sun. "

The tiny satyr jumped for joy,
— And kicked his hoofs in utmost glee.
" It is a wondrous silver toy —
— Bring it to me! "

A great wind whistled through the blue
— And caught the moon and tossed it high;
A bubble of pale fire it flew
— Across the sky.

The satyrs gasped and looked and smiled,
— And wagged their heads from side to side,
Except their shaggy little child,
— Who cried and cried.