Lunar Paraphrase - poem by Wallace Stevens | Poets.org


November 25, 2012 · 1:51 PM

Lunar Paraphrase

The moon is the mother of pathos and pity.

 

When, at the wearier end of November,

Her old light moves along the branches,

Feebly, slowly, depending upon them;

When the body of Jesus hangs in a pallor,

Humanly near, and the figure of Mary,

Touched on by hoar-frost, shrinks in a shelter

Made by the leaves, that have rotted and fallen;

When over the houses, a golden illusion

Brings back an earlier season of quiet

And quieting dreams in the sleepers in darkness-

 

The moon is the mother of pathos and pity.

 

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