Poems (McDonald)/To the Moon

by Mary Noel McDonald

TO THE MOON.

Fair mistress Moon, that up on high
 With many a brilliant star,
Goes sailing through the midnight sky—
 Pray tell me what you are?
I long to have a nearer view,
To scan thy beauties through and through.

I see a face in thee, sweet Moon,—
 Art thou a curious elf,
Who look'st to find upon our earth
 Some fair one like thyself?
Or hast thou but a wish to see
What passes in society?

And prithee, lady pure and bright,
 What doth thy piercing eye
Discover, by the witching light
 Thy gentle beams supply?
Pray tell me, mild and beauteous one,
What hath it ever gazed upon?

No answer?—art thou speechless then?
 Upon this earth thou'lt find,
Fair lady Moon, that silence is
 No fault of woman-kind:
We've tongues, and we can use them too,
As I shall plainly prove to you.

Strange thoughts come o'er me when I think
 Of all thou'st witnessed here;
The thousand, thousand years thou'st rolled,
 Unwearied in thy sphere;
Surely thou art a wonderous creature,
Not to grow old in form or feature.

Thou wer'st the same soft silvery hue,
 When first thy beams were given
To bless a sinless world, and night
 Curtained the new-made heaven;
When mother Eve looked up and praised
Thy light to Adam as she gazed.

And since that time, what mighty change
 Thy watching eye hath seen;
And yet, thou'rt ever moving on
 With the same quiet mien.
Does not thy knowledge turn thy brain?
'Tis sometimes so, when wit we gain.

And thou art worshipped here by all
 All hail thee with delight;
And who, for half the glare of day,
 Would give thy blessed light?
Nature looks fairer, and thy sway
Old ocean owns, the wise ones say.

The lover, when thine orb is full,
 In many a lady's bower,
Will tell a tale in burning words,
 Of Love's subduing power;
And swear by thy soft beams, to be
A pattern of fidelity.

And many a poet like myself,
 Will woo thee in his song,
And sing perhaps more pleasantly,
 Nor keep thee half so long:
But lady Moon—so mild and dear.
I have a secret for thine car.

Don't whisper it to idle airs,
 Lest they should waft it on;
But, there is somebody I love,
 From thy poor votary gone:
I'm sure that if he gaze on thee,
His thought is fixed the while, on me.

He's gone across the deep blue sea
 For months, perhaps for years;
I try to smile, but often, Moon,
 I cannot hide my tears:
We loved as playmates—was it strange
Time our affection could not change?

And when he asked my beating heart,
 In tones so sweet and low,
And told me, we so soon must part,
 I could not answer "No."
Did'st mark the hour.—I know thine eye
Was peeping from thy home on high.

And can'st thou, on thy silver beams,
 Kind messages convey?
Then tell him I am all his own,
 Although so far away;
And say, beneath thy gentle light,
My dreams will be of him to-night.