My condolences, dear Moon
For your fitful, fretful nights
For your sadness in the day time
When you vanish in the light
And I especially regret that you should have to follow me
For you are the Moon, and I, just a tree.

Pillows of liquid silk encase my existence
Tufts of dusky thread frame my vision
As I disappear

Hands outstretched, grasping
The deformed shred of light
Ringed blue that
Is an illusion

Deeper
Light dimming
Shadows circle and twine around
A numb shell

Transparent
Fading into oblivion
Nihility
who?

it's time to wake up
yet the warm bed beckons me
I...can't...I must sleep

593

I think I was enchanted
When first a sombre Girl—
I read that Foreign Lady—
The Dark—felt beautiful—

And whether it was noon at night—
Or only Heaven—at Noon—
For very Lunacy of Light
I had not power to tell—

The Bees—became as Butterflies—
The Butterflies—as Swans—
Approached—and spurned the narrow Grass—
And just the meanest Tunes

That Nature murmured to herself
To keep herself in Cheer—
I took for Giants—practising
Titanic Opera—

The Days—to Mighty Metres stept—
The Homeliest—adorned
As if unto a Jubilee
’Twere suddenly confirmed—

I could not have defined the change—
Conversion of the Mind
Like Sanctifying in the Soul—
Is witnessed—not explained—

’Twas a Divine Insanity—
The Danger to be Sane
Should I again experience—
’Tis Antidote to turn—

To Tomes of solid Witchcraft—
Magicians be asleep—
But Magic—hath an Element
Like Deity—to keep—