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.


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