Classic Poem

(What the Hermit Said)

The moon is but a censer swung
By angel hands unseen.
The earth has breathed the incense,
She is the angel queen.

The censer makes her drunk with hope,
She sees within the sky
A wild dominion she shall cross
Riding a chariot high.

Such hands as swing the censes
Shall grip the conquering steel
And hew and slay 'mid demon stars
But at the last shall heal.

They'll cast the crowns of conquered stars
On the proud queen's chariot-floor
And cry: " The whole sky loves you
And the great deep shall adore. "