Nine in Number
Nine in number, fleetly pacing,
Riverbends in twilight tracing,
With the bugs adroitly chasing,
Through the neon-tinted space.
Of perfected silence speaking,
Nights amongst the gardens peeking,
With the lonely comets streaking,
High above the sacred place.
Fancy free nocturnal straying,
In the mottled moonlight playing,
Underneath the grasses swaying,
Starlight hanging soft as lace.
Gathered in a neat procession,
Sated by the sky’s impression,
Uttering an old obsession;
Mark the moon’s unblemished face!
Gorgeously, serenely shining!
With the starlight intertwining!
Senses of the night refining!
As besotted starlings chase!
Heavens radiating keenly,
Over gardens spreading greenly,
With the lunar monarch queenly,
Such a fount of hidden grace!
Dark the tint of water flowing,
Through the dusk and night’s unknowing,
With the lamp’s phantasmal glowing,
As the moths ungainly race.
Not a sigh, nor aught of malice,
In the soft nocturnal palace,
Ecstasy from midnight’s chalice,
Comforted by Nuit’s embrace!
š¾
