Eclipse of the Moon by Mary Susanah Robbins - HTML preview
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When you know no one is within call,
when the fire you caught with such glad rage is old,
when wind in the scatternested chimneys whispers,
Take down these lines, and weep for what I told.
O weep, for when I sang or painted Spring
Winter was halfway halted in his tread,
and when I spoke of tempests, birds that sing
in morning sunlight were my muse of dread.
I always loved you. I cannot foresee
whether this truth to your farseeing eyes
shall shine a beacon or a mystery
hidden within the truth of my words' spies.
But I am tired. You are the rain tonight,
you, who have taught me birds and Springs are fair,
Winters and tempests wracking to their height
only because of Helen's golden hair.
I am no one. All the future and the past
sift through me. Yet I love, and bear no curse
for blinding prophesies that hold me fast
you have borne out already in my verse.