Pale moon-shafts strike the swiftly greening hills, Here winds a luring flower-fragrant path; Let us be brave and dare the pigmy wrath Of tiny wood folk. Sparkling silver spills In ever widening, always shimmering rills; O, I would see it softly garment you, Turn your bright eyes to dancing flames, ice-blue, Wrap you about till mystic beauty fills My vision with supreme exquisiteness. Humbly I stand before your moon-wrought grace, The fragile pureness of your hands I press, And touch in reverence your white rose face. O tender, shining hour, would you might stay, Nor be engulfed in fierce red fire of day! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE MILKMAID'S SONG by SYDNEY THOMPSON DOBELL FOR [OR TO] THOSE WHO FAIL by CINCINNATUS HEINE MILLER THE ALLIGATOR by BEATRICE WITTE RAVENEL CHICAGO [OCTOBER 8-10, 1871] by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER THE ABSTINENT LOVER by ABUL BAHR |