Part 11

I wave my arms across the walk. The troops obey the sign, And bring me shimmering shadow-robes And cups of cowslip-wine.

Then dig a treasure called the moon, A very precious thing, And keep it in the air for me Because I am a King.

What Grandpa Mouse Said

The moon's a holy owl-queen. She keeps them in a jar Under her arm till evening, Then sallies forth to war.

She pours the owls upon us. They hoot with horrid noise And eat the naughty mousie-girls And wicked mousie-boys.

So climb the moonvine every night And to the owl-queen pray: Leave good green cheese by moonlit trees For her to take away.

And never squeak, my children, Nor gnaw the smoke-house door: The owl-queen then will love us And send her birds no more.

The Beggar Speaks

"What Mister Moon Said to Me."

Come, eat the bread of idleness, Come, sit beside the spring: Some of the flowers will keep awake, Some of the birds will sing.

Come, eat the bread no man has sought For half a hundred years: Men hurry so they have no griefs, Nor even idle tears:

They hurry so they have no loves: They cannot curse nor laugh-- Their hearts die in their youth with neither Grave nor epitaph.

My bread would make them careless, And never quite on time-- Their eyelids would be heavy, Their fancies full of rhyme:

Each soul a mystic rose-tree, Or a curious incense tree: . . . . Come, eat the bread of idleness, Said Mister Moon to me.

What the Forester Said

The moon is but a candle-glow That flickers thro' the gloom: The starry space, a castle hall: And Earth, the children's room, Where all night long the old trees stand To watch the streams asleep: Grandmothers guarding trundle-beds: Good shepherds guarding sheep.

A Net to Snare the Moonlight

The dew, the rain and moonlight All prove our Father's mind. The dew, the rain and moonlight Descend to bless mankind.

Come, let us see that all men Have land to catch the rain, Have grass to snare the spheres of dew, And fields spread for the grain.

Yea, we would give to each poor man Ripe wheat and poppies red,-- A peaceful place at evening With the stars just overhead:

A net to snare the moonlight, A sod spread to the sun, A place of toil by daytime, Of dreams when toil is done.

Beyond the Moon

My Sweetheart is the TRUTH BEYOND THE MOON, And never have I been in love with Woman, Always aspiring to be set in tune With one who is invisible, inhuman.

O laughing girl, cold TRUTH has stepped between, Spoiling the fevers of your virgin face: Making your shining eyes but lead and clay, Mocking your brilliant brain and lady's grace.

TRUTH haunted me the day I wooed and lost, The day I wooed and won, or wooed in play: Tho' you were Juliet or Rosalind, Thus shall it be, forever and a day.

I doubt my vows, tho' sworn on my own blood, Tho' I draw toward you weeping, soul to soul, I have a lonely goal beyond the moon; Ay, beyond Heaven and Hell, I have a goal!

The Song of the Garden-Toad

Down, down beneath the daisy beds, O hear the cries of pain! And moaning on the cinder-path They're blind amid the rain. Can murmurs of the worms arise To higher hearts than mine? I wonder if that gardener hears Who made the mold all fine And packed each gentle seedling down So carefully in line?