Wine of the Moon

Down in the darkness, azalea trees
Stand with the starlight awash at their knees –
Lady, tread softly! The cold silver moon
Drowns your bright buckles and laps at your shoon!
For earth is a bowl with the stars on its rim –
The night-gods have filled it with wine to the brim,
A faun in the grasses lies piping a tune –
Come drink, pretty lady, the wine of the moon!
’Tis nymph-feet have trodden your draught from the flowers
That open strange petals in perilous hours –
The hot perfumes quiver, the bright bubbles shine –
Come drink, pretty lady, of Arcady’s wine!
As moths of the night flutter close to the bowers
And honey-sweet lips of carnivorous flowers
Your dreams hover nigh in the dangerous draught!
Ah hear! In the darkness, the faun-music laughed.
The world is a chalice with stars on its rim,
The clear silver light sparkles cold at the brim –
Lady, beware! Lest your gay-winging soul
Fall and be drowned in the blind silver bowl.