The Moon

Time wears her not; she doth his chariot guide;
Mortality below her orb is placed.

The full-orbed moon with unchanged ray
Mounts up the eastern sky,
Not doomed to these short nights for aye,
But shining steadily.

She does not wane, but my fortune,
Which her rays do not bless,
My wayward path declineth soon,
But she shines not the less.

And if she faintly glimmers here,
And paled is her light,
Yet alway in her proper sphere
She's mistress of the night.

Poem topics: , , ,

Rate this poem:

Add The Moon poem to your favorites

Add Poet Henry David Thoreau to your favorites

Popular Poets

Matsuo Basho (0 poems)
Margaret L. Woods (1 poems)
Hartley Coleridge (4 poems)
Robert Desnos (5 poems)
Lovespell Mamahealer (0 poems)
Ann Taylor (1 poems)
William A. Byrne (1 poems)
Sarojini Naidu (1 poems)
George Santayana (6 poems)
Sir Aubrey De Vere (1 poems)

Popular Poems

Calm, by Charles Baudelaire
Our Duty To Our Flag, by Edgar Albert Guest
God is a distant—stately Lover, by Emily Dickinson
He was weak, and I was strong—then, by Emily Dickinson
The Plantation Child’s Lullaby, by Paul Laurence Dunbar
The Nobleman's Wedding, by William Allingham
Dependence, by William Cowper
Thoughts, by Alexander Sergeyevich Pushkin
Croma, by James Macpherson
Its little Ether Hood, by Emily Dickinson