The Moon Flower

I know a valley-- through its solitude A brown road winds towards a mountain crest; There gnarly ti-trees dripping sweetness rest, And grasses bend, too heavily bedowed. In that still valley by the still lagoon, A ruined homestead for her secret shrine, Dwells Beauty's self, half-earthly, half-devine-- Thrilling, I saw her waken to the moon. In peaks of emerald the cactus crept, And there o'er rafters falling to decay, A miracle of flowers, spray on spray, Burst into perfect life while nature slept. First a slim silver riband from the sky Uncurled green fronds from each imprisoned bud, Then, one by one, bathed in the beaming flood, Like ghost-notes in a spirit litany. They blossomed out before my eyes, Great chalices of snow filled up with light; Set in the mystic radiance of night They seemed a vision from immortal skies. Hidden in shadow near the still lagoon Nightly I worship at a secret shrine, There on a ruin-- lily-white, devine, Is beauty lying naked to the moon!