Moonlight

The moon is up at half-past five,

She frightens me among the pines;

The moon, and only half-past five!

With half the ruddy day alive --

So soon, so high, so cold, she shines,

This daylight moon among the pines.

The moon is walking in the wood,

Her face is very white and strange;

The moon is coming through the wood.

Her face half-hidden in her hood.

Cold silver face whose hourly change

Blanches her cheek more white, more strange.

The moon beneath a pine-tree stands,

Her weary face is full of dreams;

The moon by yonder pine-tree stands,

She builds a palace with her hands,

Pillars of silver, shafts and beams, --

She builds a palace for her dreams.

The moon is sleeping in the trees.

So early is she tired of heaven,

The moon is dreaming in the trees,

Her shepherd boy she sees! she sees!

Asleep, and it is only seven!

O moon, that is so tired of heaven.