Moonrise
Will you glimmer on the sea?
Will you fling your spear-head
On the shore?
What note shall we pitch?
We have a song,
On the bank we share our arrows—
The loosed string tells our note:
O flight,
Bring her swiftly to our song.
She is great,
We measure her by the pine-trees.
poem by Hilda Doolittle
Added by Poetry Lover
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