Reincarnation

He slept as weary toilers do,          She gazed up at the moon.     He stirred and said, "Wife, come to bed";          She answered, "Soon, full soon."     (Oh! that strange mystery of the dead moon's face.)     Her cheek was wan, her wistful mouth          Was lifted like a cup,     The moonful night dripped liquid light:          She seemed to quaff it up.     (Oh! that unburied corpse that lies in space.)     Her life had held but drudgery -          She spelled her Bible thro';     Of books and lore she knew no more          Than little children do.     (Oh! the weird wonder of that pallid sphere.)     Her youth had been a loveless waste,          Starred by no holiday.     And she had wed for roof, and bread;          She gave her work in pay.     (Oh! the moon-memories, vague and strange and dear.)     She drank the night's insidious wine,          And saw another scene:     A stately room - rare flowers in bloom,          Herself in silken sheen.     (Oh! vast the chambers of the moon, and wide.)     A step drew near, a curtain stirred;          She shook with sweet alarms.     Oh! splendid face; oh! manly grace;          Oh! strong impassioned arms.     (Oh! silent moon, what secrets do you hide!)     The warm red lips of thirsting love          On cheek and brow were pressed;     As the bees know where honeys grow,          They sought her mouth, her breast.     (Oh! the dead moon holds many a dead delight.)     The speaker stirred and gruffly spake,          "Come, wife, where have you been?"     She whispered low, "Dear God, I go -          But 'tis the seventh sin."     (Oh! the sad secrets of that orb of white.)