The moon's an open furnace door Where all can see the blast, We shovel in our blackest griefs, Upon that grate are cast Our aching burdens, loves and fears And underneath them wait Paper and tar and pitch and pine Called strife and blood and hate. Out of it all there comes a flame, A splendid widening light. Sorrow is turned to mystery And Death into delight. VIII. What the Moon Saw Two statesmen met by moonlight. Their ease was partly feigned. They glanced about the prairie. Their faces were constrained. In various ways aforetime They had misled the state, Yet did it so politely Their henchmen thought them great. They sat beneath a hedge and spake No word, but had a smoke. A satchel passed from hand to hand. Next day, the deadlock broke. IX. What Semiramis Said The moon's a steaming chalice Of honey and venom-wine. A little of it sipped by night Makes the long hours divine. But oh, my reckless lovers, They drain the cup and wail, Die at my feet with shaking limbs And tender lips all pale. Above them in the sky it bends Empty and gray and dread. To-morrow night 'tis full again, Golden, and foaming red. X. What the Ghost of the Gambler Said Where now the huts are empty, Where never a camp-fire glows, In an abandoned canyon, A Gambler's Ghost arose. He muttered there, "The moon's a sack Of dust." His voice rose thin: "I wish I knew the miner-man. I'd play, and play to win. In every game in Cripple-creek Of old, when stakes were high, I held my own. Now I would play For that sack in the sky. The sport would not be ended there. 'Twould rather be begun. I'd bet my moon against his stars, And gamble for the sun." XI. The Spice-tree This is the song The spice-tree sings: "Hunger and fire, Hunger and fire, Sky-born Beauty-- Spice of desire," Under the spice-tree Watch and wait, Burning maidens And lads that mate. The spice-tree spreads And its boughs come down Shadowing village and farm and town. And none can see But the pure of heart The great green leaves And the boughs descending, And hear the song that is never ending. The deep roots whisper, The branches say:-- "Love to-morrow, And love to-day, And till Heaven's day, And till Heaven's day." The moon is a bird's nest in its branches, The moon is hung in its topmost spaces. And there, to-night, two doves play house While lovers watch with uplifted faces. Two doves go home To their nest, the moon. It is woven of twigs of broken light, With threads of scarlet and threads of gray And a lining of down for silk delight. To their Eden, the moon, fly home our doves, Up through the boughs of the great spice-tree;-- And one is the kiss I took from you, And one is the kiss you gave to me.