Eclipse

So pure, so clear, amid the vast blue lake.
Sole regent of the many-scatter'd isles.
Making of myriad million, billion miles
One beauty, floats she brilliantly awake.
Unconscious of the doom that must o'ertake
Her maidenhood before the night goes by,
And make a lurid blot upon the sky.
And all her cheer transform to dim opaque.
But happy art thou, Moon ; no fault of thine.
No just displeasure of thy lord, the Sun,
Clothes thee in weed of penance, murk and dun ;
For thine own self thou still art free to shine.
That earth which moves between mankind and thee,
Inflicts no stain upon thy purity.