Is it five years then, David, since we met,
Intent to greet the full moon's herald glow?
To-night this solemn moon is cold and strange,
No friendly face she has for us — and yet
There was no magic mood, no secret change,
No whim of hers we knew not long ago.
Come out upon our moon-capped hill with me,
Come watch: old lovers of the moon are we.
David, I mind a day when we were young, —
I was a baby then, or scarcely more,
And you fourteen or so, an eager boy, —
I see a river, and a boat that swung
Into the sunset as you dipped the oar,
And watched me sitting breathless, dumb with joy:
For we had run away, and no one knew —
It was a secret, splendid thing to do!
And ah! the evening river, sunset-kissed,
Flame upon liquid flame till all grew blurred
(Breaking and fading round our quiet boat)
Into the dark and cool-washed river-side,
Where still an opal flicker came and went,
Where the thin poplars wrapped their limbs in mist,
And singing shadows — were they rushes? — stirred!
And suddenly we saw the moon afloat,
A drifting flower on a drifting tide:
But when, alas, I stretched my arms and bent
Striving to capture her, she slipped, and lo!
Back through my hands in shattered silver ran.
I think I hear your mocking laughter: " Oh!
Look, the poor moon! — the moon is broken, Anne! "
Do you remember, too, another night,
The tossing moon, the wind, the flying chase,
The maddest moon that ever we had seen,
Whipped forward by the cloud-rack in its flight
Across her hunted, terror-twisted face?
And once, like some high, tragic, stricken queen
She rose up slow ... we hid our eyes and said
Something she saw was lost, or changed — or dead.
And now again, as years and years ago
We see her, mounting, cast her clouds, once more
Bound in a girdle of enchanted light
Forth from the hill, a ghostly ship, she glides,
Swimming in deeps of lilac-coloured air. . . .
Oh, luminous and silent fields we know,
Oh hill of many million moons of yore,
And you, old breathless trees, how changed to-night!
Up, up my magic moon! ... In purple tides
The cold sky darkens now, save only where
Its waves come surging round her shining way.
See, she smiles, she has us 'neath a spell:
David, speak now, maybe I cannot tell
What of her mystic meaning we should say.
Art dumb? So long ago, thou dost forget? ...
Reveal thyself, enchantress, smile again!
He has forgot thee, but I know thee yet,
I would not lose the moment: turn! ... in vain! —
Inscrutable she goes, estranged and dead.
Alas, poor David, when she spoke so plain. . . .
Alas for me, the little hour is fled!
Intent to greet the full moon's herald glow?
To-night this solemn moon is cold and strange,
No friendly face she has for us — and yet
There was no magic mood, no secret change,
No whim of hers we knew not long ago.
Come out upon our moon-capped hill with me,
Come watch: old lovers of the moon are we.
David, I mind a day when we were young, —
I was a baby then, or scarcely more,
And you fourteen or so, an eager boy, —
I see a river, and a boat that swung
Into the sunset as you dipped the oar,
And watched me sitting breathless, dumb with joy:
For we had run away, and no one knew —
It was a secret, splendid thing to do!
And ah! the evening river, sunset-kissed,
Flame upon liquid flame till all grew blurred
(Breaking and fading round our quiet boat)
Into the dark and cool-washed river-side,
Where still an opal flicker came and went,
Where the thin poplars wrapped their limbs in mist,
And singing shadows — were they rushes? — stirred!
And suddenly we saw the moon afloat,
A drifting flower on a drifting tide:
But when, alas, I stretched my arms and bent
Striving to capture her, she slipped, and lo!
Back through my hands in shattered silver ran.
I think I hear your mocking laughter: " Oh!
Look, the poor moon! — the moon is broken, Anne! "
Do you remember, too, another night,
The tossing moon, the wind, the flying chase,
The maddest moon that ever we had seen,
Whipped forward by the cloud-rack in its flight
Across her hunted, terror-twisted face?
And once, like some high, tragic, stricken queen
She rose up slow ... we hid our eyes and said
Something she saw was lost, or changed — or dead.
And now again, as years and years ago
We see her, mounting, cast her clouds, once more
Bound in a girdle of enchanted light
Forth from the hill, a ghostly ship, she glides,
Swimming in deeps of lilac-coloured air. . . .
Oh, luminous and silent fields we know,
Oh hill of many million moons of yore,
And you, old breathless trees, how changed to-night!
Up, up my magic moon! ... In purple tides
The cold sky darkens now, save only where
Its waves come surging round her shining way.
See, she smiles, she has us 'neath a spell:
David, speak now, maybe I cannot tell
What of her mystic meaning we should say.
Art dumb? So long ago, thou dost forget? ...
Reveal thyself, enchantress, smile again!
He has forgot thee, but I know thee yet,
I would not lose the moment: turn! ... in vain! —
Inscrutable she goes, estranged and dead.
Alas, poor David, when she spoke so plain. . . .
Alas for me, the little hour is fled!