Aleister
Crowley .
The moon
is up full-orbed : she glides
Striking
a
snaky
ray
Across
the black
resounding
tides ,
The
sepulchre
of day.
The moon
is
up :
upon
the prow
We stand
and
watch
the moon .
A
star
is
lustred
on
your brow ;
Your lips begin
a tune,
A
long ,
low
tune
of love
that
swells
Little by little , and
lights
The
overarching miracles
Of Love's
desire , and Night's.
It swells,
it
rolls
to
triumph -song
Through
luminous
black
skies :
Thrills
into
silence
sharp
and
strong ,
Assumes
its
peace
,
and
dies
.
There
is
the night
:
it
covers
close
The lilies
folded
fair
Of all your beauty
,
and
the
rose
Half
hidden
in
your hair
.
There
is
the night
:
unseen
I
stand
And
look
to
seaward
still
:
We would not
look
upon
the land
Again
,
had
I
my will
.