Said the Wind to the Moon, “I will blow you out!”
You stare
In the air
As if crying ‘Beware,’
Always looking what I am about:
I hate to be watched; I will blow you out!”

The Wind blew hard, and out went the Moon.
So, deep
On a heap
Of clouds, to sleep,
Down lay the Wind, and slumbered soon,
Muttering low, “I’ve done for that Moon!”

He turned in his bed; she was there again!
On high
In the sky,
With her one ghost-eye
The Moon shone white and alive and plain:
Said the Wind, “I will blow you out again!”

The Wind blew hard, and the Moon grew slim.
“With my sledge
And my wedge
I have knocked off her edge!
I will blow,” said the Wind, “right fierce and grim,
And the creature will soon be slimmer than slim!”

He blew and he blew, and she thinned to a thread.
“One puff
More’s enough
To blow her to snuff!
One good puff more where the last was bred,
And glimmer, glimmer, glum will go that thread!”

He blew a great blast, and the thread was gone.
In the air
Nowhere
Was a moonbeam bare;
Larger and nearer the shy stars shone;
Sure and certain the Moon was gone!

The Wind he took to his revels once more;
On down
And in town,
A merry-mad clown,
He leaped and holloed with whistle and roar—
When there was that glimmering thread once more!

He flew in a rage—he danced and blew;
But in vain
Was the pain
Of his bursting brain,
For still the Moon-scrap the broader grew
The more that he swelled his big cheeks and blew.

Slowly she grew—till she filled the night,
And shone
On her throne
In the sky alone,
A matchless, wonderful, silvery light,
Radiant and lovely, the queen of the night.

Said the Wind: “What a marvel of power am I!
With my breath,
In good faith,
I blew her to death!—
First blew her away right out of the sky,
Then blew her in: what a strength am I!”

But the Moon, she knew naught of the silly affair;
For, high
In the sky,
With her one white eye,
Motionless miles above the air,
She never had heard the great Wind blare.

George MacDonald