A Moon Poem
by Edgar Allan Poe
I saw thee once- once only- years ago:
I must not say how many- but not
It was a July midnight; and from out
A full-orbed moon, that like thine own
Sought a precipitate pathway up through
There fell a silvery silken veil of light,
With quietude, and sultriness and
Upon the upturn'd faces of a thousand
Roses that grew in an enchanted garden,
Where no wind dared to stir, unless on
Fell on the upturn'd faces of these
That gave out, in return for the love-
Their odorous souls in an ecstatic
Fell on the upturned faces of these
That smiled and died in this parterre,
by thee, and by the poetry of thy
Clad all in white, upon a violet bank
I saw thee half-reclining; while the
Fell on the upturn'd faces of the roses,
And on thine own, upturn'd- alas, in
Was it not Fate, that, on this July mid-
Was it not Fate (whose name is also
That bade me pause before that garden-
To breathe the incense of those slum-
No footstep stirred: the hated world
Save only thee and me. I paused- I
And in an instant all things disap-
(Ah, bear in mind this garden was
The pearly lustre of the moon went
The mossy banks and the meandering
The happy flowers and the repining
Were seen no more: the very roses'
Died in the arms of the adoring airs.
All- all expired save thee- save less
Save only the devine light in thine
I saw but them- they were the world
I saw but them- saw only them for
Saw only them till the moon went
What wild heart-histories seemed to lie
Upon those crystalline, celestial spheres!
How dark a woe! yet how sublime a
How silently serene a sea of pride!
How adoring an ambition! yet how
How fathomless a capacity for love!
But now, at length, dear Dian sank
Into the western couch of a thunder-cloud;
And thou, a ghost, amid entombing
Didst glide away. only thine eyes
They would not go- they never yet
Lighting my lonely pathway home that
They have not left me (as my hopes have) since.
They follow me- they lead me through
They are my ministers- yet I their
Their office is to illuminate and enkindle-
My duty, to be saved by their bright
And purified in their electric fire,
And sanctified in their elysian fire.
They fill my soul with Beauty (which
And are far up in Heaven- the stars
I kneel to
In the sad, slient watches of my night;
While even in the meridian glare of day
I see them still- two sweetly scintillant
Venuses, unextinguished by the sun!
by Emily Dickinson
|The moon was but a chin of gold
A night or two ago,
And now she turns her perfect face
Upon the world below.
Her forehead is of amplest blond;
Her cheek like beryl stone;
Her eye unto the summer dew
The likest I have known.
Her lips of amber never part;
But what must be the smile
Upon her friend she could bestow
Were such her silver will!
And what a privilege to be
But the remotest star!
For certainly her way might pass
Beside your twinkling door.
Her bonnet is the firmament,
The universe her shoe,
The stars the trinkets at her belt,
Her dimities of blue.