The moon is up full-orbed : she glides
Striking a snaky ray
Across the black resounding tides,
The sepulchre of day.
The moon is up: upon the prow
We stand and watch the moon.
A star is lustred on your brow ;
Your lips begin a tune,
A long, low tune of love that swells
Little by little, and lights
The overarching miracles
Of love’s desire, and Night’s.
It swells, it rolls to triumph-song
Through luminous black skies ;
Thrills into silence sharp and strong,
Assumes its peace, and dies.
There is the night: it covers close
The lilies folded fair
Of all your beauty, and the rose
Half hidden in your hair.
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