Tears For Apollo

Oh, my precious child, Let me kiss away your weep - Do not be troubled, the moon but bids good night, Stars whispering their ancient lullaby, Swallowing not, the western reach, But merely giving pause to the day, waking So that the grateful star of morn Should adorn its burgeoning bosom. Let not the salty seep of your cheek yet trill Such certain and elegant inequity there be, Should a stain darken that pinafore, pressed. A scandal be my name with thy mother, Should those eyes dampen your Sunday best, And surely not for the sake of Apollo's languor - Oh, such dire dalliance, that! I adore thee, my wee lass Boundless are the ways - Echoed in your mother's smile There, so deep your gaze. 'Tis true, his aged face did blush, fleeting, Dipping his dusty chin to the sea, But it was for Sol's regard only, Their goodnight kiss - pressed tender, a-cheek And no misfortune was spun. We shall return, my child, sooner than soon, And you will bear witness their recurrence! Your old man moon will beg company again, With his patient aspect beaming - Shimmering bright for your veneration - Soft, soft, so daubs the moon Soft as bluebells blooming - Wan on skin to softly swoon E'er a dream's consuming. Oh, I vow this to you, my daughter! You shall dance again on this shore, Bound and prance, my tiny ballerina! You will twirl in the breath of evening, I am sure, Lit by the gangling glow, star-ward, And tonight's lament will seem a silly song, You shall see and be heartened, my little one! And should I yet kiss that weep away, too? Ah, but joyous, those tears... And as the heavens themselves, And the best born of a father's heart, How immeasurable their number! Oh, my darling, precious child!