sweet unrest

12 November 2008

I turn around and glance out my office window and there she is, hanging low in the sky, as if waiting for me to notice her.  She does it every time.  I’m never prepared for the impact of her loveliness as she rides slowly and patiently up, her incandescent glow annointing everything beneath her.  She is both gentle and grand.  She is steadfast in her tending of this planet.  John Keats wrote a sonnet about love and a star, but I think it is the moon, especially when she is full, that inspires such sensual, earthly love:

BRIGHT star! would I were steadfast as thou art –
Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night,
And watching, with eternal lids apart,
Like Nature’s patient sleepless Eremite,
The moving waters at their priestlike task
Of pure ablution round earth’s human shores,
Or gazing on the new soft fallen mask
Of snow upon the mountains and the moors –
No – yet still steadfast, still unchangeable,
Pillow’d upon my fair love’s ripening breast,
To feel for ever its soft fall and swell,
Awake for ever in a sweet unrest,
Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath,
And so live ever – or else swoon to death.


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