The Traveller and the Mocking Moon

A piece of the moon shows obscurely
      Through the haze with a luminous glow,
      I am glad that the road I must go
Will not be all desolate, surely,
      Since I find here a face that I know.
She is saying to me, “Is it you that I see,
      Who have seen you so often before,
Where mightier trees grew wilder than these
      On a wider more barbarous shore—

”I return to you always. Behold me.
      These my rays will again light your way now.
I remember those secrets you told me,
Those wild wondrous words you once said,
While in torrents of whiteness I shed
All night floods of light on your head -
      Have you nothing to tell me or say now?
Where are you going alone and so late?
Was the place where you were then so worthy of hate,
Or your need for departures and journeys so great
That you never can rest for a little and wait?”

Yes, Moon, you speak true. You have found me
        In many strange wilderness places
And lapped and enveloped and wound me
        Whole nights in your veils and embraces.
From deserts, from forests, my passionate gaze
Has been fixed on your face. You have showered your rays
        On sands where I lay within sound of the sea,
        And my heart keeps forever your meetings with me.

But why do you ask at each turning and bend
If my feet never weary and where I would wend?
After all of our nights it is hard of you, friend,
To mock these my journeys that never can end!

Ann Keith

If you have any comments on this poem, Ann Keith would be pleased to hear from you.