A f f a i r e d ’ A m o u r

by Harry Johnson.

Illustration by E. H. Miner.

HREE-POINTED crescent—laughter-loving moon,

Thou Regent of the Pleiadesian skies,

I’ll mock thee if thy waning comes too soon,

Yet toast thy beauty ere its glory dies.

This Night bewitched me, and the friendly throng

Was sharper, clearer, with its merry jest.

Like one inspired, I rippled into song,

Feeling love’s loveliness was love’s behest.

All hearts responded;—still the echoes ring

In jolly welcome to my joyous song;

Oh, human harp! If love but touch the string,

Adieu to discord, dissonance and wrong!

Nay, one was mute—one only; but his eyes,

Brimmed to the lashes with sweet, wistful tears—

So, lovely crescent, as thy beauty dies,

I quaff to thee, to him—the cup that cheers.

“Three-pointed crescent—laughter-loving moon,

Thou Regent of the Pleiadesian skies,

I’ll mock thee if thy waning comes too soon,

Yet toast thy beauty ere its glory dies.”