Category: Poems into Movies

She Sings to the Moon

The moonlight breaks upon the city’s domes,
And falls along cemented steel and stone,
Upon the grayness of a million homes,
Lugubrious in unchanging monotone.

Upon the clothes behind the tenement,
That hang like ghosts suspended from the lines,
Linking each flat to, but to each indifferent,
Incongruous and strange the moonlight shines.

There is no magic from your presence here,
So moon, sad moon, tuck up your trailing robe,
Whose silver seems antique and too severe
Against the glow of one electric globe.

Go spill your beauty on the laughing faces
Of happy flowers that bloom a thousand hues,
Waiting [on] tiptoe in the wilding spaces,
To drink your wine mixed with sweet draughts of dews.