The Moon

Fair mistress; throw your shadows down,

Like satin locks of raven black,

Brushing the bony shoulders of

The gnarled oak.

Gracefully floating across your

Endless black ballroom.

Gleam, distant maiden of the intangible deep,

And cast your bright glances over

The sullen sleepy hills.

Flirt with the sea, his glistening dark eyes,

And make jealous the firelight, as it

Whimpers and wavers and withers

In the dark corners of your stolen night.

For soon your enchantments will be scorched,

And your grammarye, singed.

And your star-dusted cloak will be smothered

With the cascading purple to yellow banners

Of the impatient one,

Torn down and blown beautifully aside,

By the breath

Of the wretched, heaving, burning sun.