The Ebon Night …
A sheen of alabaster haunts the ebon night,
In breathless epochs that come to pass
Schools of fireflies heap above the clouds
As capricious auras swath the grass
Captivated by that chaste, snowy beam
With eyes scintillated in stolen glance,
And frozen seconds, hint to nihilism,
In powered particles came an ivory lance—
Her hoar-frost simpered, my eyes descried,
of lunar parades in mirrors of white.
The moon is change, so why do I love it?
Is it the sheen, the wane, or wax I invite?
Is it the smiles and frowns she hangs on the night
Or is it the antiquity she recalls
To wax and wane in warfare and peace
And spend each morn in resplendent withdrawal
Oh dimity mistress partaking the sky,
in quietude’s screen, as the sun her swain.
She sheds the tincture dim, as joy pervades,
But known to none, she cries when it rains
Each dawn when she rests, and the sun shows its glean
A piece of her fades to the velvet boon.
The lapsing sun like a ship in propinquity
And in the echo of love utters, “Hello moon.”