I bear the Scales, where hang in equipoise The night and day; and when unto my lips I put my trumpet, with its stress and noise Fly the white clouds like tattered sails of ships; The tree-tops lash the air with sounding whips; Southward the clamorous sea-fowl wing their flight; The hedges are all red with haws and hips, The Hunter's Moon reigns empress of the night. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SONG OF THE OPEN ROAD by WALT WHITMAN URANIA; THE WOMAN IN THE MOON: THE FOURTH CANTO, OR LAST QUARTER by WILLIAM BASSE DELIVER US FROM ... by AMELIA JOSEPHINE BURR FOUR SONGS BY WAY OF CHORUS TO A PLAY: 2. FEMININE HONOURS by THOMAS CAREW |