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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=368547" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Moon-Struck</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">IT is a moor <br>Barren and treeless; lying high and bare <br>Beneath the archèd sky. The rushing winds <br>Fly over it, each with his strong bow bent <br>And quiver full of whistling arrows keen. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">I am a woman, lonely, old, and poor. <br>If there be any one who watches me <br>(But there is none) adown the long blank wold, <br>My figure painted on the level sky <br>Would startle him as if it were a ghost,-- <br>And like a ghost, a weary wandering ghost, <br>I roam and roam, and shiver through the dark <br>That will not hide me. O but for one hour, <br>One blessed hour of warm and dewy night, <br>To wrap me like a pall--with not an eye <br>In earth or heaven to pierce the black serene. <br>Night, call yet this? No night; no dark--no rest-- <br>A moon-ray sweeps down sudden from the sky, <br>And smites the moor-- <br>Is't thou, accursèd Thing, <br>Broad, pallid, like a great woe looming out-- <br>Out of its long-sealed grave, to fill all earth <br>With its dead, ghastly smile? Art there again, <br>Round, perfect, large, as when we buried thee, <br>I and the kindly clouds that heard my prayers? <br>I'll sit me down and meet thee face to face, <br>Mine enemy!--Why didst thou rise upon <br>My world--my innocent world, to make me mad? <br>Wherefore shine forth, a tiny tremulous curve <br>Hung out in the gray sunset beauteously, <br>To tempt mine eyes--then nightly to increase <br>Slow orbing, till thy full, blank, pitiless stare <br>Hunts me across the world? <br>No rest--no dark. <br>Hour after hour that passionless bright face <br>Climbs up the desolate blue. I will press down <br>The lids on my tired eyeballs--crouch in dust, <br>And pray. <br>--Thank God, thank God!--a cloud has hid <br>My torturer. The night at last is free: <br>Forth peep in crowds the merry twinkling stars. <br>Ah, we'll shine out, the little silly stars <br>And I; we'll dance together across the moor, <br>They up aloft--I here. At last, at last <br>We are avengèd of our adversary! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">The freshening of the night air feels like dawn. <br>Who said that I was mad? I will arise, <br>Throw off my burthen, march across the wold <br>Airily--Ha! what, stumbling? Nay, no fear-- <br>I am used unto the dark, for many a year <br>Steering compassionless athwart the waste <br>To where, deep hid in valleys of white mist, <br>The pleasant home-lights shine. I will but pause, <br>Turn round and gaze-- <br>O me! O miserable me! <br>The cloud-bank overflows: sudden outpour <br>The bright white moon-rays--ah! I drown, I drown, <br>And o'er the flood, with steady motion, slow <br>It walketh--my inexorable Doom. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">No more: I shall not struggle any more: <br>I will lie down as quiet as a child,-- <br>I can but die. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">There, I have hid my face: <br>Stray travellers passing o'er the silent wold <br>Would only say, 'She sleeps.' <br>Glare on, my Doom; <br>I will not look at thee: and if at times <br>I shiver, still I neither weep nor moan: <br>Angels may see, I neither weep nor moan. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Was that sharp whistling wind the morning breeze <br>That calls the stars back to the obscure of heaven? <br>I am very cold.--And yet there is a change. <br>Less fiercely the sharp moonbeams smite my brain, <br>My heart beats slower, duller: soothing rest <br>Like a soft garment binds my shuddering limbs.-- <br>If I looked up now, should I see it still <br>Gibbeted ghastly in the hopeless sky?-- <br>No! <br>It is very strange: all things seem strange: <br>Pale spectral face, I do not fear thee now: <br>Was't this mere shadow which did haunt me once <br>Like an avenging fiend?--Well, we fade out <br>Together: I'll nor dread nor curse thee more. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">How calm the earth seems! and I know the moor <br>Glistens with dew-stars. I will try and turn <br>My poor face eastward. Close not, eyes! That light <br>Fringing the far hills, all so fair--so fair, <br>Is it not dawn? I am dying, but 't is dawn. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Upon the mountains I behold the feet <br>Of my Beloved: let us forth to meet'-- <br>Death. <br>This is death. I see the light no more; <br>I sleep. <br>But like a morning bird my soul <br>Springs singing upward, into the deeps of heaven <br>Through world on world to follow Infinite Day.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Dinah+Maria+Mulock+Craik">Dinah Maria Mulock Craik</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=368547" data-title="Moon-Struck de Dinah Maria Mulock Craik" data-description="IT is a moor 
Barren and treeless; lying high and bare 
Beneath the archèd sky. The rushing winds 
Fly over it, each with his strong bow bent 
And quiver full of whistling arrows keen. 

I am a woman, lonely, old, and poor. 
If there be any one w..."></div>
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