VERSES TO THE MOON

O Moon, who now look over the roof
Of the church, in the tropical calm
To be saluted by him who has been out all night,
To be barked at by the dogs of the suburbs,

O moon, who in your silence have laughed at
All things! In your sidereal silence
When, keeping carefully in the shadow, the
Municipal judge steals from some den—

But you offer, saturnine traveler,
With what eloquence in mute space
Consolation to him whose life is broken,

While there sing to you from a drunken brawl
Long-haired, neurasthenic bards,
And lousy creatures who play dominos.