Moonlight.

A poem by Fannie Isabelle Sherrick

Oh, what so subtle as the spell
The silvery moonlight weaves?
Oh, what so sad and what so glad,
And what so soon deceives.

A vision of the long ago--
Long years of pain between;
A mocking dream of happier days--
A veil of silver sheen.

A passing gleam of falling stars--
An idle summer's dream;
The sudden waking of a heart--
Things are not as they seem.

Oh, silver moon, indeed you hold
The secrets of the heart;
And none can know and none can guess
The mystery of thy art.

A silver length of rippling waves,
A glance from happy eyes;
A strain of music low and sweet--
The heart in rapture lies.

Yet, ah, how faithless are the vows
Made 'neath the summer moon;
As changing as the falling rays
That fade away as soon.

For love is like the subtle spell
The sliver moonlight weaves;
And what so sad and what so glad
And what so soon deceives?

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