Selene

In late summer quadrature
She rose at midnight in the east
In a propitious overture
Of clouds becoming moonbeam fleeced,
And I will tell you strait and true
There is no finer orb by half
To ever hang in midnight blue
Or decorate a spectrograph.
And now she's decking heaven's hall
Just as if she owned the place
And was anticipating fall
To drop down out of outer space
In a medley of moonlit forms
Like meteors and thunderstorms!