The Moon Song
In this life I have frequently found myself caught up in a hypnotic love affair with one or another heavenly body, the moon being a prime example. More often than not it has become the object of my affections whether as surrogate for a love half a world away or simply as some primeval instinctive draw. It is always there in the midst of my encounters, whether as a chaperone or as catalyst for the act itself. Inescapable in its allure, it mesmerizes with a provocative light that illumes the romance. La lune est l’objet original de désir.
“I sing of Artemis, whose shafts are of gold, who cheers on the hounds, the pure maiden, shooter of stags, who delights in archery…..Over the shadowy hills and windy peaks she draws her golden bow, rejoicing in the chase, and sends out grievous shafts…..when she is satisfied and has cheered her heart, this huntress who delights in arrows slackens her supple bow and goes to the great house of her dear brother Phoebus Apollo, to the rich land of Delphi, there to order the lovely Muses and Graces.” ~Homer
“…And then I fell asleep. Ah, can I tell
The enchantment that afterwards befel?
Yet it was but a dream: yet such a dream
That never tongue, although it overteem
With mellow utterance, like a cavern spring,
Could figure out and to conception bring
All I beheld and felt. Methought I lay
Watching the zenith, where the milky way
Among the stars in virgin splendour pours;
And travelling my eye, until the doors
Of heaven appear’d to open for my flight,
I became loth and fearful to alight
From such high soaring by a downward glance:
So kept me stedfast in that airy trance,
Spreading imaginary pinions wide.
When, presently, the stars began to glide,
And faint away, before my eager view:
At which I sigh’d that I could not pursue,
And dropt my vision to the horizon’s verge;
And lo! from opening clouds, I saw emerge
The loveliest moon, that ever silver’d o’er
A shell for Neptune’s goblet: she did soar
So passionately bright, my dazzled soul
Commingling with her argent spheres did roll
Through clear and cloudy, even when she went
At last into a dark and vapoury tent—
Whereat, methought, the lidless-eyed train
Of planets all were in the blue again.”
From:~Endymion, Book 1, 575-595, John Keats (1795–1821). Â
Look for her in your night sky. 
