Brother And Sister by D.H. Lawrence — Read

THE shorn moon trembling indistinct on her path,

Frail as a scar upon the pale blue sky,

Draws towards the downward slope; some sorrow

hath

Worn her down to the quick, so she faintly fares

Along her foot-searched way without knowing why

She creeps persistent down the sky's long stairs.

Some say they see, though I have never seen,

The dead moon heaped within the new moon's arms;

For surely the fragile, fine young thing had been

Too heavily burdened to mount the heavens so.

But my heart stands still, as a new, strong dread

alarms

Me; might a young girl be heaped with such shadow

of woe?

Since Death from the mother moon has pared us

down to the quick,

And cast us forth like shorn, thin moons, to travel

An uncharted way among the myriad thick

Strewn stars of silent people, and luminous litter