Reincarnation

He slept as weary toilers do,
    She gazed up at the moon.
He stirred and said, "Wife, come to bed";
    She answered, "Soon, full soon."
(Oh! that strange mystery of the dead moon's face.)

Her cheek was wan, her wistful mouth
    Was lifted like a cup,
The moonful night dripped liquid light:
    She seemed to quaff it up.
(Oh! that unburied corpse that lies in space.)

Her life had held but drudgery -
    She spelled her Bible thro';
Of books and lore she knew no more
    Than little children do.
(Oh! the weird wonder of that pallid sphere.)

Her youth had been a loveless waste,
    Starred by no holiday.
And she had wed for roof, and bread;
    She gave her work in pay.
(Oh! the moon-memories, vague and strange and dear.)

She drank the night's insidious wine,
    And saw another scene:
A stately room - rare flowers in bloom,
    Herself in silken sheen.
(Oh! vast the chambers of the moon, and wide.)

A step drew near, a curtain stirred;
    She shook with sweet alarms.
Oh! splendid face; oh! manly grace;
    Oh! strong impassioned arms.
(Oh! silent moon, what secrets do you hide!)

The warm red lips of thirsting love
    On cheek and brow were pressed;
As the bees know where honeys grow,
    They sought her mouth, her breast.
(Oh! the dead moon holds many a dead delight.)

The speaker stirred and gruffly spake,
    "Come, wife, where have you been?"
She whispered low, "Dear God, I go -
    But 'tis the seventh sin."
(Oh! the sad secrets of that orb of white.)