The moon was but a chin of gold

The moon was but a chin of gold
A night or two ago –
And now she turns her perfect face
Upon the world below –

Her forehead is of amplest blonde –
Her cheek – like beryl stone
Her eye unto the summer dew
The likest I have known –

Her lips of amber never part –
But what must be the smile
Upon her friend she could bestow
Were such her silver will –

And what a privilege to be
But the remotest star –
For certainly her way might pass
Beside your twinkling door –

Her bonnet is the firmament –
The universe – her shoe –
The stars – the trinkets at her belt –
Her dimities – of blue –

– Emily Dickinson

I was visiting home in Alaska the first two weeks of September and found an old cursive notebook from my elementary school days. This lovely poem was inside. Happy Full Moon!

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