The hunter's moon is out tonight, Cold and callous and high and white Among the startled trees; So we must go hunting, you and I, After a song or after a lie Or a dead man's trumperies. We must go hunting here and there, Perhaps for a dream we used to share, Perhaps for a ruined shrine; For a god or so whom we lost last year, Or a fugitive dusk that we held too dear, Or a stain of blood, or wine. Insatiate yet is the hunter's moon, Her silence compels like a haunted tune Through the late December mist. So we must go hunting once again, Our thin souls stripped to the wind's keen pain, Our lover's lips unkissed. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...MEMOIR OF A PROUD BOY by CARL SANDBURG IN THE SUBWAY by LOUIS UNTERMEYER TOMORROW by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD FRAGMENTS INTENDED FOR DEATH'S JEST-BOOK: A SUBTERRANEAN CITY by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES OVERHEARD ON A SALTMARSH by HAROLD MONRO SAINT PAUL: 1 by FREDERICK WILLIAM HENRY MYERS SIMMENTHAL by FREDERICK WILLIAM HENRY MYERS |