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 Golden ear, a little slips,
And all the Stars go by –
Of Winter, all the Iris at our feet –
In tender times to fly!

While Night unrolls her Flier
For the Fields of dew –
The Watching Woodlands, trailing
The Tail of Breath – anew.

There’s Music in the Cloudlands
As the Moon unfolds –
And Night wraps all her talons
In petals of such gold!

“The Moon was but a Chin of Gold”

• Emily Dickinson