The Injured Moon (Tr. by Robert Lowell)

THE INJURED MOON (La Lune Offensée)

Oh Moon, discreetly worshipped by our sires,

still riding through your high blue countries, still

trailed by the shining harem of your stars,

old Cynthia, the lamp of our retreats . . .

The lovers sleep open-mouthed! When they breathe,

they show the white enamel of their teeth.

The writer breaks his teeth on his work-sheets,

the vipers couple under the hot hill.

Dressed in your yellow hood, do you pursue

your boy from night to dawn, till the sun climbs

skyward where dim Endymion disappears?

"I see your mother, Child of these poor times,

crushed to her mirror by the heavy years.

She cunningly powders the breast that nourished you."

Structure

15 lines · 5 stanzas