The new Moon

The day’s bright launch has floundered in the whirlpool of the Nile, On the river’s face one fragment floats eddyingly awhile;

Into the bowl of heaven the twilight’s crimson blood-drops run— Has Nature with her lancet pricked the hot veins of the sun

Is that an earring, that the sky has thieved from Evening’s bride, or through the water does some silvery fish, quivering, glide?

Your caravan holds on its way, though no trumpet be blown; Your voice still murmurs, though no mortal ear may catch its tone.

All shapes of life that wanes and grows before us you display: Where is your native land? towards what country lies your way?

You who still wander yet still keep your path, take me with you, Take me now while these throbbing thorns of torment pierce me through!

grope for light, I anguish in this earth‐abode, a child In the schoolroom of existence, like pale mercury quick and wild.