Moonlight

What time the meanest brick and stone

Take on a beauty not their own,

And past the flaw of builded wood

Shines the intention whole and good,

And all the little homes of man

Rise to a dimmer, nobler span;

When colour's absence gives escape

To the deeper spirit of the shape,

— Then earth's great architecture swells

Among her mountains and her fells

Under the moon to amplitude

Massive and primitive and rude:

— Then do the clouds like silver flags

Stream out above the tattered crags,

And black and silver all the coast

Marshalls its hunched and rocky host,

And headlands striding sombrely

Buttress the land against the sea,

— The darkened land, the brightening wave —

And moonlight slants through Merlin's cave.