Constance Caroline Woodhill Naden (Констанс Каролина Вудхилл Нэден)

Moonlight and Gas

THE poet in theory worships the moon,
But how can he linger, to gaze on her light?
With proof-sheets and copy the table is strewn,
A poem lies there, to be finished to-night.
He silently watches the queen of the sky,
But orbs more prosaic must dawn for him soon--
The gas must be lighted; he turns with a sigh,
Lets down his venetians and shuts out the moon.

"This is but a symbol," he sadly exclaims,
"Heaven's glory must yield to the lustre of earth;
More golden, less distant, less pure are the flames
That shine for the world over sorrow and mirth.
When Wisdom sublime sheds her beams o'er the night,
I turn with a sigh from the coveted boon,
And choosing instead a more practical light
Let down my venetians and shut out the moon."

He sits to his desk and he mutters "Alas,
My muse will not oaken, and yet I must write!"
But great is Diana: venetians and gas
Have not been sufficient to banish her quite.
She peeps through the blinds and is bright as before,
He smiles and he blesses the hint opportune,
And feels he can still, when his labour is o'er,
Draw up his venetians and welcome the moon.

1. The Ideal
2. In the Garden
3. The New Orthodoxy
4. To a Hyacinth in January
5. Light-Born Sorrows

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