THE grace of the moon is Born monthly, my dear, If our light the less soon is Put out, re-appear Will it never Nor ever In thin crescence peep To dispel the long sleep. Then, while we are living, Tease not but kiss; A thousand times giving Renewal of bliss: Neither measured Nor treasured Can love be, whose grace More embraceth than space. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SONNET: 13. OUT OF CATALLUS by GAIUS VALERIUS CATULLUS THE DESERTED HOUSE by MARY ELIZABETH COLERIDGE THE REAPER AND THE FLOWERS by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW AGAMEMNON: THE SACRIFICE OF IPHIGENIA. CHORUS by AESCHYLUS THE IRISH MOTHER IN THE PENAL DAYS by JOHN BANIM FRAGMENTS INTENDED FOR DEATH'S JEST-BOOK: MAN'S GUARD AGAINST DEATH by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES |