The Rose Of Midnight

The moon is now an opening flower,

      The sky a cliff of blue.

The moon is now a silver rose;

      Her pollen is the dew.

Her pollen is the mist that swings

      Across her face of dreams:

Her pollen is the April rain,

      Filling the April streams.

Her pollen is eternal life,

      Endless ambrosial foam.

It feeds the swarming stars and fills

      Their hearts with honeycomb.

The earth is but a passion-flower

      With blood upon his crown.

And what shall fill his failing veins

      And lift his head, bowed down?

This cup of peace, this silver rose

      Bending with fairy breath

Shall lift that passion-flower, the earth

      A million times from Death!