The moon is now an opening flower, <br />The sky a cliff of blue. <br />The moon is now a silver rose; <br />Her pollen is the dew. <br /> <br />Her pollen is the mist that swings <br />Across her face of dreams: <br />Her pollen is the April rain, <br />Filling the April streams. <br /> <br />Her pollen is eternal life, <br />Endless ambrosial foam. <br />It feeds the swarming stars and fills <br />Their hearts with honeycomb. <br /> <br />The earth is but a passion-flower <br />With blood upon his crown. <br />And what shall fill his failing veins <br />And lift his head, bowed down? <br /> <br />This cup of peace, this silver rose <br />Bending with fairy breath <br />Shall lift that passion-flower, the earth <br />A million times from Death!<br /><br />Vachel Lindsay<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-rose-of-midnight/
