MORTAL, mortal, have you seen 
In the scented summer night, 
Great Astarte, clad in green 
With a veil of mystic light, 
Passing on her silent way, 
Pale and lovelier than day? 
Mortal, mortal, have you heard, 
On an odorous summer eve, 
Rumors of an unknown word 
Bidding sorrow not to grieve,— 
Echoes of a silver voice 
Bidding every heart rejoice? 
Mortal, when the slim new moon 
Hangs above the western hill, 
When the year comes round to June 
And the leafy world is still, 
Then, enraptured, you shall hear 
Secrets for a poet’s ear. 
Mortal, mortal, come with me, 
When the moon is rising large, 
Through the wood or from the sea, 
Or by some lone river marge. 
There, entranced, you shall behold 
Beauty’s self, that grows not old.

Bliss William Carman


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