The Crescent Moon
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.
About this Poem
From A Dome of Many-Coloured Glass (Houghton Mifflin Company, 1912)