A baby looks up at the moon, And cries, Because he cannot grasp The big, silver balloon, Tangled in the twisted branches, Of tall trees. To dreaming lovers, Drifting down languorous, limpid lakes, The moon is a white-flamed rose Of romance, Whose soft, shimmering petals Flutter witchingly Over the waters. But the apathetic astronomer Gazes through a long, black telescope, And sees only a bleak, barren sphere, Wheeling mathematically Through charted space! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO ABRAHAM LINCOLN by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON PEACE; A STUDY by CHARLES STUART CALVERLEY CEREMONIES FOR CANDLEMASSE EVE by ROBERT HERRICK MONT BLANC; LINES WRITTEN IN THE VALE OF CHAMOUNI by PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY ASTROPHEL AND STELLA: 47 by PHILIP SIDNEY AT THE CARNIVAL by ANNE SPENCER |