REINCARNATION

He slept as weary toilers do,

She gazed up at the moon.

He stirred and said, “Wife, come to bed”;

She answered, “Soon, full soon.”

( Oh! that strange mystery of the dead moon's face. )

Her cheek was wan, her wistful mouth

Was lifted like a cup,

The moonful night dripped liquid light:

She seemed to quaff it up.

( Oh! that unburied corpse that lies in space. )

Her life had held but drudgery —

She spelled her Bible thro’;

Of books and lore she knew no more

Than little children do.

( Oh! the weird wonder of that pallid sphere. )

Her youth had been a loveless waste,

Starred by no holiday.

And she had wed for roof, and bread;

She gave her work in pay.

( Oh! the moon-memories, vague and strange and dear. )

She drank the night's insidious wine,

And saw another scene:

A stately room — rare flowers in bloom,

Herself in silken sheen.

( Oh! vast the chambers of the moon, and wide. )

A step drew near, a curtain stirred;

She shook with sweet alarms.

Oh! splendid face; oh! manly grace;

Oh! strong impassioned arms.

( Oh! silent moon, what secrets do you hide! )

The warm red lips of thirsting love

On cheek and brow were pressed;

As the bees know where honeys grow,

They sought her mouth, her breast.

( Oh! the dead moon holds many a dead delight. )

The speaker stirred and gruffly spake,

“Come, wife, where have you been?”

She whispered low, “Dear God, I go —

But‘ tis the seventh sin.”

( Oh! the sad secrets of that orb of white. )