Classic Poem

The silvern mistress of the golden Sun,
The milk-white sister to the wine-red Earth,
My lord still smiles upon me, nor will shun
My face for hers of younger, fairer birth.
Though oft her fruitful beauty glides between
And robs me of his countenance, I will
Ne'er hate her, but yield up my borrowed sheen
To make her hallowed nights more hallowed still.
Burn then, my pale and vestal flame, make fair
The nuptials of the amorous Earth with night!
My sickle reaps the lurking stars in air,
My argent shield hangs lucent on the height.
Yet he that chafes and wounds the Earthen shores,
And flees though she embrace--the yearning Sea,--
Is shackled by my smiling and implores
My chaster, colder kiss and mounts to me.
With pearls of white enchantment I bestrew
The happy realms where lovers hunt their bliss;
My ray is pale as frost and soft as dew;
My path is woven in snow through the abyss.