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.

by Henry David Thoreau

Comments (20)

Very good poem it tells more about thou moon.good work keep it up.
I’m so fucking tired rn and we gotta make a protect about poetry
Poet thinks the Moon to a white Blessing Woman.
I'd call this a cute poem by any means, definitely a wonderful retort to Raleigh's rather immortal description of the moon as she watches our mortal lives fade away...
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