What Semiramis Said

Vachel Lindsay

The moon’s a steaming chalice
 Of honey and venom-wine.
A little of it sipped by night
 Makes the long hours divine.
But oh, my reckless lovers,
 They drain the cup and wail,
Die at my feet with shaking limbs
 And tender lips all pale.
Above them in the sky it bends
 Empty and gray and dread.
To-morrow night ’tis full again,
 Golden, and foaming red.

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