Classic Poem

A broken moon is in the night,
And many shadows take to creeping
Like sulky panthers from the lightâ?¦
Where shall I go for weeping?

Everything else is under the moon,
Even a graceful place to die in,
Chill with light as a dream of noon;
And there is a place to pray, to swoon,
But not the spot to cry in.

Under the moon there is no motion
But caught like ice, grows hard and sheer;
And eyes give up their trifling notion
Where sorrow is a cold devotion
That has no smallest tear.