THE sun was gone, and the moon was coming <br />Over the blue Connecticut hills; <br />The west was rosy, the east was flushed, <br />And over my head the swallows rushed <br />This way and that, with changeful wills. <br />I heard them twitter and watched them dart <br />Now together and now apart <br />Like dark petals blown from a tree; <br />The maples stamped against the west <br />Were black and stately and full of rest, <br />And the hazy orange moon grew up <br />And slowly changed to yellow gold <br />While the hills were darkened, fold on fold <br />To a deeper blue than a flower could hold. <br />Down the hill I went, and then <br />I forgot the ways of men, <br />For night-scents, heady, and damp and cool <br />Wakened ecstasy in me <br />On the brink of a shining pool. <br />O Beauty, out of many a cup <br />You have made me drunk and wild <br />Ever since I was a child, <br />But when have I been sure as now <br />That no bitterness can bend <br />And no sorrow wholly bow <br />One who loves you to the end? <br />And though I must give my breath <br />And my laughter all to death, <br />And my eyes through which joy came, <br />And my heart, a wavering flame; <br />If all must leave me and go back <br />Along a blind and fearful track <br />So that you can make anew, <br />Fusing with intenser fire, <br />Something nearer your desire; <br />If my soul must go alone <br />Through a cold infinity, <br />Or even if it vanish, too, <br />Beauty, I have worshipped you. <br />Let this single hour atone <br />For the theft of all of me.<br /><br />Sara Teasdale<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/august-moonrise-2/
