WHITE MAGIC

I saw the moon come out and stand last night Above the plains of cloud, Like a lone chief, who, at his tented door, Looks down upon the forest’s silent floor From a far battlement upon the height, And drops his mantle proud Into the swimming vapours of the light. O watcher on the planet-woven steep Whose shining feet are set Above the haunted glamour of the skies! Draw me, a slave, with thy compelling eyes, While the slow hours in soundless circle creep, Out through the world, while yet The world’s heart heaves beneath the veil of sleep. O pale-faced chief! The earth and heaven are still And thou and I awake; I come, with outstretched arms and spirit bound, Forth through the scattered graves where, lying sound, The dead are sown by field and fold and hill And mist-entangled brake; O pale chief! Draw me up into the height, Into the swimming light.