THE young moon, refreshed from her lynns of light, Moves there; her golden horn, New-beauty-born, Ravishes the night, And the single star that on human sight For ever companions her summer return, At his spell, Her lute, her blossom in the bosom, her bell, Is the eye of eternal affection, Tenderness, the nurse of resurrection; These at my window are, the moon and star, And this inquiring, retiring, reappearing bat With thwart magnificat. Below, the pool of dewy meadows rests, its faint shine Far-stealing; and in my room, this mine And tunnel, prisoners stand on every hand, Their geniuses turned into printed pages, Princes these of all the ages; My love yet makes their shells and cerecloths bloom. I bless them, gazing along the wall at their questionable shape, And while I bless them, condemn them to no escape From me their king and ape Until my spirit be gone To hear them where the moon draws light affirm their new-seen "All is One." | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...BIANCA AMONG THE NIGHTINGALES by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING TYRANNICK [TYRANNIC] LOVE: EPILOGUE by JOHN DRYDEN LINCOLN by NICHOLAS VACHEL LINDSAY AT A VACATION EXERCISE IN THE COLLEGE by JOHN MILTON MONDAY'S CHILD by MOTHER GOOSE TRAVEL by ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON THE GARDEN OF PROSERPINE by ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE |