sei come l’onda
Of cool sweet dew and radiance mild
The moon a web of silence weaves
In the still garden where a child
Gathers the simple salad leaves.
A moon-dew stars her hanging hair,
And moonlight touches her young brow;
And, gathering, she sings an air:
“Fair as the wave is, fair art thou.”
Be mine, I pray, a waxen ear
To shield me from her childish croon,
And mine a shielded heart to her
Who gathers simples of the moon.