Slipping softly through the sky Little horned, happy moon, Can you hear me up so high? Will you come down soon? On my nursery window-sill Will you stay your steady flight? And then float away with me Through the summer night? Brushing over tops of trees, Playing hide and seek with stars, Peeping up through shiny clouds At Jupiter or Mars. I shall fill my lap with roses Gathered in the milky way, All to carry home to mother. Oh! what will she say! Little rocking, sailing moon, Do you hear me shout — Ahoy! Just a little nearer, moon, To please a little boy.
This poem is in the public domain.
I shall not harm you at all nor ask you
for anything,
You need have no fear;
I am only very tired and would like to
rest awhile
With my head here
And play with the long strands of your
loosed hair,
Or touch your skin,
Feel your cool breath on my eyes,
watch it stir
Those rising hills where your breasts begin;
And listen to your voice whispering
tender words
Until, perhaps, I fall asleep;
Or feel you kiss my forehead to comfort me
a little
If I should weep.
That is all, just to lie so beside you
Till dawn's lamp is lit.
You need not fear me. I have given
too much of love
Ever to ask for it.
From On a Grey Thread (Will Ransom, 1923) by Elsa Gidlow. This poem is in the public domain.