Luna Moth (An Elegy)...
I
Who is it that calls--
Calls softly in the night?
Is it the rogue
Or vagabond wind;
That amid this early hour plies,
Its’ trembled whispers
To my uneasy sighs;
Lightly perched
Upon blood-bitten lips,
As now,
A softened, wavering,
Voice;
Bears up the silence
Of the still,
Reaching out!
Out!
Through the valley of
The night—
Into my soul—
My soul!
Reborn.
II
Who is it that comes—
Comes silently in the night?
Haunting me
Between tortured dreams,
Of a time
Long since passed;
Whose visage
I must ever see,
In clear, blood-stained,
Agony,
Wherein a memory, you shall
Always be,
Against the panes of destiny,
Tap! Tap! Tap!
Beats your cadence of blame,
Rolling back to me--
Back to me,
From your lonely grave,
O’er many years
Upon frost-tinged wings,
Aglow in sultry, silkiest lime--
Caressing the night
One beat at a time--
Faintly breathed
Against an empty sky,
Where sightless eyes
Grow wide with
The night,
Or is it fright
That I see,
Looking back through
The glass
At me,
Palely streaked
Against my glass,
Upon this good nights’
Eve’ning pass.
III
What is it that draws nigh—
Nigh in the night?
Cruelly hiding amid
The sunken shadows--
A visage glimpsed
Just out of sight;
I say then!
Who goes there--
Upon this good night?
Is it you?
Who in silent whispers
Descends,
Gently fluttering amid
Your ashen glen,
As this cruel night’s
Solemn revenge--
Tell me then!
So I might know,
Is it you
Who schemes my
Darkest dreams?
And dances amid
This dying light?
Tell me then,
For I must know—
Know your name,
As I know my own,
Say it then!
So I might know—
Your name!
Your name!
I must surely know!
IV
Who is it then
That goes softly—
Softly in the night?
Though I must confess
I think I know,
Have heard you,
Seen you,
Against my glass—
Nights before;
Amid a sickening glow,
Flutt’ring in the waning
Light,
Shimmering in a veil
Of darkest night—
Green and white,
Translucent light,
My ghost!
My love!
My memory! of that night;
Haunting my window,
My dreams!
My soul!
God, please God!
Don’t alight!
Let me go!
And return to the night;
For I mustn’t remember,
Won’t remember!
So white!
Your face,
Your cries!
I must ever hear,
Amid the echoes,
Of my troubled ears—
Calling down the corridors
Of my soul,
Wherein I must ever know,
The chilling cold,
Of a murderous heart--
Where my deeds now dwell alone!
Hidden from the sun--
So long ago,
Beneath the weeds
And cold, cruel, stones,
Of this window
Where I sit alone.
V
Alas, again,
I surely know,
Who comes to me
Upon this cruel night;
Face aglow with pale moonlight;
Tapping my glass
With softest hands--
Gently wrapping the past
In silv’ry strands,
Of Luna…
And her children,
Her children
Who know…
VI
…What I know…
My tortured soul,
From where you rest
‘Neath my candle’s glow,
Amid your bed
In flowered repose,
You know who I am--
Just you alone!
And know what
I know—
What I know…
What I know…
What lies beneath the beaten stones,
Of the ancient hedge
Just below,
The somber glow
Of this old window…
FINIS
