The moon was but a chin of gold
A night or two ago,
And now she turns her perfect face
Upon the world below.
Her forehead is of amplest blonde;
Her cheek is beryl stone;
Her eye unto the summer dew
The likest I have known.
Her lips of amber never part;
But what must be the simle
Upon her friend she could bestow
Were such her silver will!
And what a privilege to be
But the remotest star!
For certainly her way might pass
Beside your twinkling door.
Her bonnet is the firmament,
The universe her shoe,
The stars the trinkets at her belt,
Her dimities of blue.
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im not good at desifering poems but i like this one
ReplyDeleteI like it cause it's an apostrophe to the moon
ReplyDeletelike you can't really talk to it
and personification too!
you got it