FLOWER of the moon! <br />Still white is her brow whom we worshiped on earth long ago; <br />Yea, purer than pearls in deep seas, and more virgin than snow. <br />The dull years veil their eyes from her shining, and vanish afraid, <br />Nor profane her with age—the immortal, nor dim her with shade. <br /> <br />It is we are unworthy, we worldlings, to dwell in her ways; <br />We have broken her altars and silenced her voices of praise. <br />She hath hearkened to singing more silvern, seen raptures more bright; <br />To some planet more pure she hath fled on the wings of the night,— <br />Flower of the moon! <br /> <br />Yet she loveth the world that forsook her, for, lo! once a year <br />She, Diana, translucent, pale, scintillant, down from her sphere <br />Floateth earthward like star-laden music, to bloom in a flower, <br />And our hearts feel the spell of the goddess once more for an hour. <br /> <br />See! she sitteth in splendor nor knoweth desire nor decay, <br />And the night is a glory around her more bright than the day, <br />And her breath hath the sweetness of worlds where no sorrow is known; <br />And we long as we worship to follow her back to her own,— <br />Flower of the moon!<br /><br />Harriet Monroe<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-night-blooming-cereus/
