Moonsun At Morning

O moon of illusion,

enchanting men

with tinsel vision

along the vein,

cocks crow up a rival

to mock your face

and eclipse that oval

which conjured us

to leave our reason

and come to this

fabled horizon

of caprice.

Dawn shall dissever

your silver veil

which let lover think lover

beautiful;

the light of logic

will show us that

all moonstruck magic

is dissolute:

no sweet disguises

withstand that stare

whose candor exposes

love's paling sphere.

In gardens of squalor

the sleepers wake

as their golden jailer

turns the rack;

each sacred body

night yielded up

is mangled by study

of microscope:

facts have blasted

the angel's frame

and stern truth twisted

the radiant limb.

Reflect in terror

the scorching sun:

dive at your mirror

and drown within.