THE OLD MOON IN THE ARMS OF THE NEW
The young moon rises low
Just where the passing earth
Has stood aside to help it grow,
Once it has come to birth.
Yet on the old moon’s back
The image of the new
Reflected is with lustre-lack
From earth it kindled to.
In gleaming arms of youth
The sire is embraced;
The silver edge of ancient truth
In younger truth is traced.
The clasp of morning love
Embosoms that of eve;
And memory’s in the crescent of
Old age’s child-reprieve.
A sickly sickle frames
The lusty one that reaps;
So power, pleasure, fortune, fame’s
Pale as the keener sweeps.
Our latest wish infolds
The hope that’s almost spent,
And every rim of promise holds
The past to future bent.
But not so feebly say
Youth hastens on the heels
Of age, but that ’tis nature’s way
Our myriad orb reveals.
Transcriber’s Notes
All poetry spacing and minor errors in the original have been maintained.