Nailsworth Hill

 

The Moon, that peeped as she came up,

Is clear on top, with all her light;

She rests her chin on Nailsworth  Hill,

And, where she looks, the World is white.

 

White with her light- or is it Frost,

Or is it Snow her eyes have seen;

Or is it Cherry blossom there,

Where no such trees have ever been?