The Book of Odes, by L. Cranmer-Byng, [1908]
The moon comes forth in her brightness;
Fair as the moon was she,
That bright and beautiful lady
Who lit the night for me.
Would that I saw her now,
With the stars around her brow.
The moon comes forth in her splendour;
Fair through the void she burns,
That pale and beautiful lady,
My moon, no more returns;
But under the alien skies
She shines in a stranger's eyes.
The moon comes forth in her glory;
Kind to the world is she.
That kind and beautiful lady,
Doth charm no night for me.
Oh, when the dawn-star wanes
For the sun to rend my chains!