Now
Now is not past, but will be soon,
With everything that is to come
Under the stars and the white moon.
An argued choice we make at noon
By midnight sees us drained and dumb.
Now is not past, but will be soon.
If Armagnac absorbs the prune
And tells us it was once a plum
Under the stars—and the white moon
Silvered its rustling leaves one June—
The memory’s a pendulum:
‘Now is not past, but will be soon.’
The hands of history have strewn
The ruins of Byzantium
Under the stars and the white moon
We’ve nothing but this ancient tune:
The tricks of time are wearisome.
Now is not past, but will be soon,
Under the stars and the white moon.

Leave a Reply