posted on 2024-04-05, 12:57authored byFirst World War Poetry Digital Archive Project Team
The cruel Moon hangs out of reach Up above the shadowy beech. Her face is stupid, but her eye Is small and sharp and very sly. Nurse says the Moon can drive you mad? No, that's a silly story, lad! Though she be angry, though she would Destroy all England if she could, Yet think, what damage can she do Hanging there so far from you? Don't heed what frightened nurses say: Moons hang much too far away.
History
Identifier
3408.txt
Creator
Graves, Robert (1895-1985)
Date
(1995, 1997, 1999)
Date Created
01/01/1997
Temporal Date
31/12/1999
Type
Poem
Rights
The Robert Graves Copyright Trust / Published in Graves, R. (1999) Complete Poems: Volumes 1 - 3. Eds. B. Graves and D. Ward. London: Penguin Books.