Weird Tales (Canadian, 2nd series)/1946/January/Midnight Moon
This ghostly rider of the sky that spills
Pallid quicksilver over field and shore,
May be herself the home of ghosts that pour
Over her town plateaux and pockmarked hills,
Here, we may think, the lover's shade fulfills
Its tryst with some dear phantom lost before;
And throneless kings, and warriors slain may soar
Where the faint moonlight seeps in spectral rills.
And this perhaps is why when, cold and clear,
Slow radiance floats across a midnight wall,
We seem to feel a Presence standing near,
A formless Something where the shadows falk
And sadness moves us, and an eerie fear
While the low winds, like astral voices, call.
—Stanton A. Coblentz