Variation of the Song of the Moon

As a violet's gentle eye

Gazes on the azure sky

Until its hue grows like what it beholds;

As a gray and empty mist

Lies like solid amethyst

Over the western mountain it enfolds,

      When the sunset sleeps

      Upon its snow;

As a strain of sweetest sound

Wraps itself the wind around

Until the voiceless wind be music too;

            As aught dark, vain, and dull,

      Basking in what is beautiful,

            Is full of light and love—