AT MOONRISE
23
To-night you see the moon across the sandsAnd ponder if it finds the far-off loomOf some Hy-Brasil that is made of dream:The heavy scent of coastal box blows downTo spice the shore with sweets. You hear beyondThe gum-trees and the whisper of the leavesA band that blares out jazz at the hotel . . .Yet, with your bridegroom's kisses on your mouthClad in your satin gown and fragile shoesYou ache to wander thro' the thorny bushBy some lone crag to watch the moon alone,And know not why your eyes are blind with tears. . .
