The moon will run all consciences to cover, <br />Night is now the easy peer of day; <br />Little boys no longer sight the plover <br />Streaked in the sky, and cattle go <br />Warily out in search of misty hay. <br />Look at the blackbird, the pretty eager swallow, <br />The buzzard, and all the birds that sail <br />With the smooth essential flow <br />Of time through men, who fail. <br /> <br />For now the moon with friendless light carouses <br />On hill and housetop, street and marketplace, <br />Men will plunge, mile after mile of men, <br />To crush this lucent madness of the face, <br />Go home and put their heads upon the pillow, <br />Turn with whatever shift the darkness cleaves, <br />Tuck in their eyes, and cover <br />The flying dark with sleep like falling leaves.<br /><br />Allen Tate<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/ditty-4/
