How is it, O moon, that melting
Unstintedly, prodigally,
On the peaks' hard majesty,
Till they seem diaphanous
And fluctuant as a veil,
And pouring thy rapturous light
Through pine and oak and laurel,
Till the summer-sharpened green,
Softening and tremulous,
Is a luster of liquid silver-
How is it that I find,
When I turn again to thee,
That thy lost and wasted light
Is regained in one magic breath ?
The Summer Moon
Clark Ashton Smith
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Poem topics: breath, green, lost, magic, moon, silver, summer, hard, majesty, liquid, light, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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