The earth, still heavy and warm with afternoon,
Dazed by the moon:
The earth, tormented with the moon’s light,
Wandering in the night:
La,
La,
The moon is a lovely thing to see—The moon is an agony.
Full moon, moon rise, the old old
Of brightness in dilated eyes,
The ache of
Elbows leaning on the narrow sill,
Of motionless cold hands upon the
Marble of the parapet,
Of open eyelids of a child
The crooked glimmer of the windown blind,
Of sliding faint remindful
Across the lamplight on the rocking-chairs:
Why do we stand so
Stiff fingers on the moonlit gate?
Why do we
To watch so long the fall of moonlight on the sand?
What is it we cannot recall?
Tormented by the moon’s
The earth turns maundering through the night.
