The white moon Shines in the woods, From each branch Leaves a voice Under the oar... Oh, beloved friend. The pond reflects, Deep mirror, The silhouette Black willow Where the wind cries... Let us dream, it is the hour. A vast and tender Appeasing Seem to go down From strength That the star makes iridescent... It is the exquisite hour. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...23RD STREET RUNS INTO HEAVEN by KENNETH PATCHEN UNDER MY WINDOW by THOMAS WESTWOOD THE DAUGHTERS OF ATLAS by AESCHYLUS LAST AND WORST by FRANCES EKIN ALLISON HINC LACHRIMAE; OR THE AUTHOR TO AURORA: 16 by WILLIAM BOSWORTH |