The moon is like a scimitar, A little silver scimitar, A-drifting down the sky. And near beside it is a star, A timid twinkling golden star, That watches like an eye. And thro' the nursery window-pane The witches have a fire again, Just like the ones we make, And now I know they're having tea, I wish they'd give a cup to me, With witches' currant cake.
[Woodcut by Ando Hiroshige, Mount Kyodai and the Moon, Shinona Province, 1853]
Return to the Sara Teasdale library , or . . . Read the next poem; Dusk In June