A calm in the flitting sky

A CALM in the flitting sky. 
And in the calm a moon, 
A youngling golden : 
*Mid windy shades an olden 
Oak-tree whose branches croon 
As the orb sails by. 
Heigh ho !
Youth and age, the soft and dry, 
While breezes blow.

Its crooked arm the oak 
Points upward to the moon ; 

A sapless member, 
Which scorching of November 
And levin shafts of June 
In their season broke. 
Heigh ho !
Age is gruff with blight and stroke, 
While breezes blow. 

But storm has left no trace 
Upon the blithe new moon. 
That westward slideth, 
And on the white wind rideth : 
It does not weary soon 
Of the blowing race. 
Heigh ho !
Youth is free and sweet of face, 
While breezes blow.