The moon comes up as the dusk falls late, over the castle, glowing and great, gently loosing the earth as it goes. The moon is like a fiery rose my beloved lost by the garden-gate. Against stone walls my shadow stands, then follows me, like a Moorish slave. I will send him back with my commands to pick up the rose, and, swift and grave, to bring it to her in his dark hands. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE LOST JEWEL by EMILY DICKINSON ON THE MANTLEPIECE by JAMES LANE ALLEN MERCHANTS FROM CATHAY by WILLIAM ROSE BENET SONNETS FROM THE PORTUGUESE: 42 by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING STANZAS FOR MUSIC by MARY (BALFOUR) BRUNTON |