Two lovers watched the new moon hold
The old moon in her bright embrace.
Said she: “There’s mother, pale and old,
And drawing near her resting place.”
Said he: “Be mine, and with me wed,”
Moon-high she stared… she shook her head.
A soldier saw with dying eyes
The bleared moon like a ball of blood,
And thought of how in other skies,
So pearly bright on leaf and bud
Like peace its soft white beams had lain;
Like Peace!… He closed his eyes again.
Child, lover, poet, soldier, clown.
Ah yes, old Moon, what things you’ve seen!
I marvel now, as you look down,
How can your face be so serene?
And tranquil still you’ll make your round,
Old Moon, when we are underground.
“And now, blow out your candle, lad, and get to bed. See, the dawn is in the sky. Open your window and let its freshness rouge your cheek. You’ve earned your rest. Sleep.”
Aye, but before I do so, let me read again the last of my Ballads.
