THE MOON by Emily Dickinson
"The moon was but a chin of gold
A night or two ago.
And now she turns her perfect face
Upon the world below.
Her foehead is of amplest blond,
Her cheek like beryl stone.
Her eye unto the summer dew
The likest I have known.
Her lips of amber never part
But what must be the smile,
Upon her friend she could bestow.
Were such her silver will!
And what a privelege to be
But the remotest star!
For certainly her way must pass
Beside your twinkling door.
Her bonnet is the firmament,
The universe her shoe.
The stars the trinkets at her belt
Her dimities of blue."
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