Verses and Sonnets by Hilaire Belloc — Read

The Moon is dead. I saw her die. / She in a drifting cloud was drest, / She lay along the uncertain west, / A dream to see. / And very low she spake to me: / "I go where none may understand, / I fade into the nameless land, / And there must lie perpetually." / And therefore I, / And therefore loudly, loudly I / And high / And very piteously make cry: / "The Moon is dead. I saw her die." / And will she never rise again? / The Holy Moon? Oh, never more! / Perhaps along the inhuman shore / Where pale ghosts are / Beyond the far lethean fen / She and some wide infernal star -- / To us who loved her never more, / The Moon will never rise again. / Oh! never more in nightly sky / Her eye so high shall peep and pry / To see the great world rolling by. / For why? / The Moon is dead. I saw her die.