In brightness born of moonflow, here I bathe,
the stars stretched out like pebbles where I wade,
and here I wash my soul; in trills I play.
The night is more a friend to me than day!
Its silver on the flowers like a dew
of light gives every stem a seelie hue
and skies like velvet black wrap diamonds fair:
they glance out in your eye and in your hair.
What care I for a throne or crowns or rings?
With treasures formed of moonlight I am king.
Farther shores I know than this,
visions vivid like the morrow;
holy heaven, everlightened,
merciful, will master sorrow.
Anew I wish on falling stars;
leaping lights a-soar display
powers like a dream poured down,
the righteous ruin of the day.
Rue no more the pastward lesson,
harbor here in love alone,
that castle-keep and quiet eyrie
blessed upon a saving stone.
The rain outside washes down the summer heat
into puddles and streams that flood the city street,
leaving the air cool; and, with relief,
the trees stretch out in branch and leaf
to dance and play with misty wind
as with a long-forgotten friend.
A thirsty man, once filled, washes hands and face;
so they wash, with unpretentious grace,
and rub their hands as if in glee.
So you, my Lord, my Savior, work in me
new rain, which to the swelter of the mind
brings cool; and with life unbind
old images locked in deathful drought,
and, raining, bring their gladness out.