Explore "The Moon's Funeral" by Hilaire Belloc on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
I. 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."
II. And will she never rise again?
The Holy Moon? Oh, never more!
Perhaps along the inhuman shore / Where pale ghosts are / Beyond the low 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.