Unicorn

UNICORN

In the moonglow, bright and white,
On the midnight's deep,
In the beams of dreaming light,
Over the city asleep,
On the clouds' white glaze,
Past the stars, on night's dark ways,
Something is softly stamping its feet.

Is it only the far thunder's beat?
Is it only a drifting, bright cloud
On the edge of the rise of the storm?
Or is it a prancing and proud,
Moonborn unicorn?

Its voice is the far ocean's swell,
It rides on the moon's silent beams;
Its horn is a white, spiralled shell,
Its path is the pathway of dreams.

On the edge of the rise of the storm,
Over the city asleep,
Is it a drift of bright cloud?
Or is it a prancing and proud,
Moonborn unicorn,
Softly, softly stamping its feet?