Eclipse of the Moon by Mary Susanah Robbins - HTML preview

I am death. I steal upon old men

in libraries, covering the page

that they may not look upon still words again.

The surmounting fire of their age

blossoms from a final passionate pen.

I am death. I cover the mother’s eyes

with a black cloth, and she sees

in the searing dark the terror of those cries

she loved, anguish she thought to ease

with her own sighs, will recognize.

I am death. I press the flower of the young

between my lips, and girls and boys

fade deliciously, their songs half-sung,

from very surfeit of their joys

and think the death-bell loveliest swooning rung.

I am death. I have sought knowledge right,

Child-love best, love of sweethearts sweet,

And found them such heaven that I bequeath them my

might.

I am no stranger they meet

by flickering candle-life, but their own wild sight.

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