42
MOON-STRUCK.
Asks no more for the pleasure draught,
But for the cup of balm,
And all its storms and sunshine bursts
Controls to one brave calm,—
Then step by step walks Autumn,
With steady eyes that show
Nor grief nor fear, to the death of the year,
While the equinoctials blow
But for the cup of balm,
And all its storms and sunshine bursts
Controls to one brave calm,—
Then step by step walks Autumn,
With steady eyes that show
Nor grief nor fear, to the death of the year,
While the equinoctials blow
MOON-STRUCK.
A FANTASY.
T is a moorBarren and treeless; lying high and bare
Beneath the arched sky. The rushing winds
Fly over it, each with his strong bow bent
And quiver full of whistling arrows keen.
I am a woman, lonely, old, and poor.
If there be any one who watches me
(But there is none) adown the long blank wold,
My figure painted on the level sky
If there be any one who watches me
(But there is none) adown the long blank wold,
My figure painted on the level sky
