Moonrise
At the end of the road through the wood
I see the great moon rise.
The fields are flooded with shine,
And my soul with surmise.
What if that mystic orb
With her shadowy beams,
Should be the revealer at last
Of my darkest dreams!
What if this tender fire
In my heart's deep hold
Should be wiser than all the lore
Of the sages of old!
The Queen of Night
Mortal, mortal, have you seen
In the scented summer night,
Great Astarte, clad in green
With a veil of mystic light,
Passing on her silent way,
Pale and lovelier than day?
Mortal, mortal, have you heard,
On an odorous summer eve,
Rumors of an unknown word
Bidding sorrow not to grieve,—
Echoes of a silver voice
Bidding every heart rejoice?
Mortal, when the slim new moon
Hangs above the western hill,
When the year comes round to June
And the leafy world is still,
Then, enraptured, you shall hear
Secrets for a poet's ear.