Two Moon Poems

A Moon Poem by Edgar Allen Poe

I saw thee once- once only- years ago:
I must not say how many- but not many.
It was a July midnight; and from out A full-orbed moon, that like thine own soul soaring,
Sought a precipitate pathway up through heaven,
There fell a silvery silken veil of light,
With quietude, and sultriness and slumber,
Upon the upturn'd faces of a thousand
Roses that grew in an enchanted garden,
Where no wind dared to stir, unless on tiptoe-
Fell on the upturn'd faces of these roses
That gave out, in return for the love- light,
Their odorous souls in an ecstatic death-
Fell on the upturned faces of these roses
That smiled and died in this parterre, enchanted
by thee, and by the poetry of thy presence.
Clad all in white, upon a violet bank
I saw thee half-reclining; while the moon
Fell on the upturn'd faces of the roses,
And on thine own, upturn'd- alas, in sorrow!
Was it not Fate, that, on this July mid- night-
Was it not Fate (whose name is also Sorrow),
That bade me pause before that garden- gate,
To breathe the incense of those slum- bering roses?
No footstep stirred: the hated world all slept,
Save only thee and me. I paused- I looked-
And in an instant all things disap- peared.
(Ah, bear in mind this garden was enchanted!)
The pearly lustre of the moon went out:
The mossy banks and the meandering paths,
The happy flowers and the repining trees,
Were seen no more: the very roses' odours
Died in the arms of the adoring airs.
All- all expired save thee- save less than thou:
Save only the devine light in thine eyes.
I saw but them- they were the world to me.
I saw but them- saw only them for hours-
Saw only them till the moon went down.
What wild heart-histories seemed to lie enwritten
Upon those crystalline, celestial spheres!
How dark a woe! yet how sublime a hope!
How silently serene a sea of pride!
How adoring an ambition! yet how deep-
How fathomless a capacity for love!
But now, at length, dear Dian sank from sight,
Into the western couch of a thunder-cloud;
And thou, a ghost, amid entombing trees
Didst glide away. only thine eyes Remained.
They would not go- they never yet have gone.
Lighting my lonely pathway home that night,
They have not left me (as my hopes have) since.
They follow me- they lead me through the years.
They are my ministers- yet I their slave.
Their office is to illuminate and enkindle-
My duty, to be saved by their bright light
And purified in their electric fire,
And sanctified in their elysian fire.
They fill my soul with Beauty (which is Hope.)
And are far up in Heaven- the stars I kneel to
In the sad, slient watches of my night;
While even in the meridian glare of day
I see them still- two sweetly scintillant Venuses, unextinguished by the sun!

Sonnet of the Moon by Charles Best

Look how the pale Queen of the silent night
doth cause the ocean to attend upon her,
and he, as long as she is in sight,
with his full tide is ready here to honor;

But when the silver waggon of the Moon
is mounted up so high he cannot follow,
the sea calls home his crystal waves to morn,
and with low ebb doth manifest his sorrow.

So you that are sovereign of my heart
have all my joys attending on your will,
when you return, their tide my heart doth fill.
So as you come and as you depart,
joys ebb and flow within my tender heart.

Two more Moon Poems

The Moon

by Emily Dickinson

The Moon

Famous Chinese Prose Poem

How often does the bright moon come?
With Wine, I ask of the blue sky.
In the heavily palaces,
I wish to return there, riding the wind,
but fear that in the high places of jade halls and eaves,
I cannot fend off the cold. Rising to dance with my clear shadow,
scarcely possible that I among men,
turn around the red lacquered pavilions,
dip below the silken-curtained windows,
shine on the sleepless.

There ought not be regrets,
but why so often are you full at times of parting?
Men have sorrow and joy and farewell and union.
The moon has clouds and clear skies,
waxing and waning.

Perfection is rare since days of old,
so wish only that the years be long,
to share beauty even across a thousand miles.

- Su Shih (lived in the Song Dynasty (1037-1101)

NIGHT

by William Blake

The first verse of Blake's poem

The sun descending in the west, 
The evening star does shine; 
The birds are silent in their nest. 
And I must seek for mine. 
The moon, like a flower 
In heaven's high bower, 
With silent delight 
Sits and smiles on the night. 

The full poem, Night, by William Blake, is available at the Nimbi website.