Classic Poem

A SLENDER crescent in the opal west,
Low-hung above a mountain's darkening crest—
A silent dream above a world at rest.
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The bending curve of the horizon bar—
A silver boat moored high in depths afar,
Cradling in tender arms one lone bright star!
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An orchard close where wandering moonbeams strayed,
Weaving weird tapestries of light and shade,
And fairy paths for fairy footsteps made.
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A great white harvest moon, divinely fair,
Slow sailing through resplendent seas of air,
Over dark pine-trees, and a garden rare.
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A broad street flooded with the silver flow
Of the white moonbeams on new-fallen snow,
While, overhead, cloud shapes swept to and fro;
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A curtained window and a casement low,
And a fair woman in the radiant glow
On whom the king smiled, passing, long ago!
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