by Luis G. Dato
“The Child shall be my own,” the moon in tender
And venomous commiseration saith,
“And she shall take the loveliness of death,
Death’s countenance, her raiment of pale splendour;
Body and soul to me she shall surrender,
And I to her my cold and quiet breath,
For love shall be our token and our faith,
When I the pallor of the tomb shall land her.
And she shall be of earth the loved and lover,
Water and clouds, the formless multiform sea,
The night shall woo her, and the drunk sky over,
Man and the beast, and things that cannot be:
For I, the moon, shall o’er her destinies hover,
Voluptuous is my love, my lovers, she.”
