Moonrise

65 Moonrise



I AWOKE in the Midsummer not to call night, |in the

     white and the walk of the morning:

The moon, dwindled and thinned to the fringe | of a

     finger-nail held to the candle,

Or paring of paradisaïcal fruit, | lovely in waning but

     lustreless,

Stepped from the stool, drew back from the barrow, | of

     dark Maenefa the mountain;

A cusp still clasped him, a fluke yet fanged him, | en-

     tangled him, not quit utterly.

This was the prized, the desirable sight, | unsought, pre-

     sented so easily,

Parted me leaf and leaf, divided me, | eyelid and eyelid of

     slumber.