AND who has seen the moon, who has not seen
Her rise from out the chamber
of the deep,
Flushed and grand and naked, as from the chamber
Of finished bridegroom, seen
her rise and throw
Confession of delight upon the wave,
Littering the waves with her own
superscription
Of
bliss, till all her lambent beauty shakes towards us
Spread out and known at last,
and we are sure
That beauty is a thing beyond the grave,
That perfect, bright
experience never falls
To nothingness, and time will dim the
moon
Sooner than
our full consummation here
In this odd life will tarnish or pass
away.