In the white moonlight, where the willow waves,  
He halfway gallops among the graves—  
A tiny ghost in the gloom and gleam,  
Content to dwell where the dead men dream,  
 
But wary still!        
For they plot him ill;  
For the graveyard rabbit hath a charm  
(May God defend us!) to shield from harm.  
 
Over the shimmering slabs he goes—  
Every grave in the dark he knows;        
But his nest is hidden from human eye  
Where headstones broken on old graves lie.  
 
Wary still!  
For they plot him ill;  
For the graveyard rabbit, though sceptics scoff,          
Charmeth the witch and the wizard off!  
 
The black man creeps, when the night is dim,  
Fearful, still, on the track of him;  
Or fleetly follows the way he runs,  
For he heals the hurts of the conjured ones.          
 
Wary still!  
For they plot him ill;  
The soul’s bewitched that would find release,—  
To the graveyard rabbit go for peace!  
 
He holds their secret—he brings a boon          
Where winds moan wild in the dark o’ the moon;  
And gold shall glitter and love smile sweet  
To whoever shall sever his furry feet!  
 
Wary still!  
For they plot him ill;        
For the graveyard rabbit hath a charm  
(May God defend us!) to shield from harm.