Full Measure

A late moonrise will always harmonize  
With eyes lost in midnight admiration  
For the mainspring spin in almanac skies  
Above the churn of cloud vaporation  
No horologist may exactly know
With any tic or clockwork toc precise.  

How may we measure each vortical blow  
When chaos is the governing device?
  
We need not measure too precisely once  
The moonbeam throws its mesmerizing spell  
Where the heart trains the brain into a dunce  
Ruled by the gold where the moonbeams fell  
And by the wild air through which it gleamed,  
To say..."To measure, is to know we dreamed!".