Vachel Lindsay

What Semiramis Said

THE moon's a steaming chalice,
    Of honey and venom-wine. 
A little of it sipped by night
    Makes the long hours divine. 
But oh, my reckless lovers,
    They drain the cup and wail, 
Die at my feet with shaking limbs
    And tender lips all pale. 
Above them in the sky it bends
    Empty and gray and dead. 
To-morrow night 'tis full again,
    Golden, and foaming red.