The New Moon

Day, you have bruised and beaten me,

As rain beats down the bright, proud sea,

Beaten my body, bruised my soul,

Left me nothing lovely or whole--

Yet I have wrested a gift from you,

Day that dies in dusky blue:

For suddenly over the factories

I saw a moon in the cloudy seas--

A wisp of beauty all alone

In a world as hard and gray as stone--

Oh who could be bitter and want to die

When a maiden moon wakes up in the sky?

Sara Teasdale