Moonrise

I Awoke in the Midsummer not to call night, |in the white and the walk of the morning:

The moon, dwindled and thinned to the fringe | of a finger-nail held to the candle,

Or paring of paradisa'cal fruit, | lovely in waning but lustreless,

Stepped from the stool, drew back from the barrow, | of dark Maenefa the mountain;

A cusp still clasped him, a fluke yet fanged him, | en- tangled him, not quit utterly.

This was the prized, the desirable sight, | unsought, pre- sented so easily,

Parted me leaf and leaf, divided me, | eyelid and eyelid of slumber.