When the moon has poured her light, Her wine of radiance bubbled with star-dew; When the dawn's death-pallor breaks And the sunrise lies in lakes, Rolling crimson on to white, Rolling saffron on to blue, Day returns again with you. Never are you mine to keep From night who lays us straightly side by side, Like two carved on a coffin cover, Close, yet far, till slumber's over. No, you are not mine in sleep. A pallid woman, purple-eyed Of vapor motion is your bride. From cloud she comes; returns to cloud; Moon-edged her raiment, raven as her mood. The secret sacraments of Love Administered in her shadow-grove Never to waking are allowed. Her drink is midnight; fire, her food; She bears a star-eyed, winged witch-brood. I am jealous of her speech That moves in a music for an inner ear And of her feet walking, earth-shy, The fluent curves of wind and sky, Leading you beyond my reach; Her intangible touch I fear Lest it lure you from me here. One with day's gold re-birth -- Eye-opening day where mortal women be -- Dream-desire and witch-want pass. Now the need for noon and grass, The solid substance of sweet earth. You touch my body reverently. Day has brought you back to me. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THERE IS NO NATURAL RELIGION (B) by WILLIAM BLAKE THE MASK by CLARISSA SCOTT DELANY AT THE TAVERN by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR THE LAMENT OF THE FLOWERS by JONES VERY A BALLADE OF LAWN TENNIS by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS ON THE DEATH OF CYNTHIA'S HORSE by PHILIP AYRES |