Poems (Allen)/Karl
P the sky in silence holy Comes the young moon slowly, slowly, Softly with her light divine, Filling, like a cup with wine.
KARL.
P the sky in silence holy Comes the young moon slowly, slowly, Softly with her light divine, Filling, like a cup with wine. On the broad bay falls her lustre, Where the anchored vessels cluster, While their sails gleam snowy-white, Brightened by her pearly light.
Thou whose restless high endeavor Led thee from my sight forever To thy home beyond the sea, Comes there any thought of me?
Only last year thou wast roaming With me in the dewy gloaming, Talking with low murmuring lips Of the moonlight and the ships.
Now again I wander nightly, When the radiance, falling whitely All across the sleeping bay, Builds a broad and shining way;
But the scene, so dreamy, tender, Loses half its mystic splendor, Since upon the whispering shore Thou wilt walk with me no more.
For, though fame and beauty ever Crown thine earnest life-endeavor, On the moon-rise and the sea Thou hast looked thy last with me.
