  decorative THE moon has but one side of light and beauty, The other, steeped in never-ending night, Seems worse than dead, as in the harmony Of spheres, she cannot even echo. And She died they say, for love of her great brother, The glorious Sun, whom she may never reach, Condemned to be apart, for that great sin Of love. He was the light and life and joy Of all her world, how could she then refrain And love not, when her brother was a god? But then she died, you see, and was forgiven. Wherefore doth fire still melt the gold in depths So fathomless, that not a spark may light The poor outside? She wanders through the worlds, Unknown, without a ray, and yet alive With foaming waters and with words as proud As flowing hair. Why art thou dark, O Earth? If thou wert sinless, would not dancing rays Laugh through the night and gladden other planets? Would not thy bosom's warmth give life again To yonder ghost, thy mate in misery? What hast thou done to be condemned to darkness, To be a living hell, wherein the souls Of millions suffer until death? Thy heart Is gold: hast thou betrayed the sun? Or hast Thou stolen wondrous goods, in gliding from The sun? Therefore is Death to be thy child, That oft are torn and ever motherly Will comfort the offender with her off'rings. Or art thou dark because thy womb must be The grave of all thy children, Mother Earth? |
|
