Moon Folly / Fannie Stearns Davis

Moon Folly
I WILL go up the mountain after the Moon: She is caught in a dead fir-tree. Like a great pale apple of silver and pearl, Like a great pale apple is she. I will leap and will clasp her in quick cold hands And carry her home in my sack. I will set her down safe on the oaken bench That stands at the chimney-back. And then I will sit by the fire all night, And sit by the fire all day. I will gnaw at the Moon to my heart’s delight, Till I gnaw her slowly away. And while I grow mad with the Moon’s cold taste, The World may beat on my door, Crying “Come out!” and crying “Make haste! And give us the Moon once more!” But I will not answer them ever at all; I will laugh, as I count and hide The great black beautiful seeds of the Moon In a flower-pot deep and wide. Then I will lie down and go fast asleep, Drunken with flame and aswoon. But the seeds will sprout, and the seeds will leap: The subtle swift seeds of the Moon. And some day, all of the world that beats And cries at my door, shall see A thousand moon-leaves sprout from my thatch On a marvellous white Moon-tree! Then each shall have moons to his heart’s desire: Apples of silver and pearl: Apples of orange and copper fire, Setting his five wits aswirl. And then they will thank me, who mock me now: “Wanting the Moon is he!” Oh, I’m off to the mountain after the Moon, Ere she falls from the dead fir-tree!