Moonrise at Sunset

Thin as a bubble, empty of light and listless, 
The moon rose pale, and the eastern sky was gray 
With the rain that had been, and away in the west, resistless, 
A crimson flood surged up where the dead sun lay. 

The sun lay dead in a sea of fire, and splendid 
In death he took all light from the sky around; 
His battle lost and won, and his day's race ended 
He lay, and the place of his death was holy ground. 

The sun lay dead, enwrapped in a shroud of splendour,
The moon, his heir, arose in the pallid east; 
Colourless, meek, she fronted the west to render 
Homage to that swift runner whose race had ceased. 

Pale, she took light from the dead; the pale clouds breasting, 
She gathered light as she rose with her face to the sun, 
Unhasting she went her way, she went unresting, 
And the west grew pale as the east, and the night was begun.