Little sister of the moon lived upon a steep
Where the road wound upward, to the hill of sleep;
There she slept, the daytimes, in a mossy cave
Where nights the shadows gathered, and dancing lessons gave.
At eight o’clock each night she woke: “It’s time to rise, I guess”;
She shook her tangled hair out, and donned a silver dress;
She washed her hands in water, that ran as cold as snow,
And packed a little basket, with the sweetest things that grow.
And then she sang; “And now, away!” and flew up to the sky,
The owl’s child saw her going, and blinked a sober eye;
The willow threw her kisses, and the breeze laughed, “I’m along,”
And helped her bear the basket, and sang a sweetheart song.
The moon, her patient sister, was waiting in the blue,
How could she leave for supper, with so many things to do?
She must keep the little stars awake, and put the breeze to sleep;
And scare away the cloud-folk, who crowded round like sheep.
So Little Sister comes to her; she flies before her face.
She spreads her silver gown out, and bows a low “Your Grace!”
With the dipper for a saucer, and a comet for a spoon,
She mixes sweets with fire and dew, and feeds them to the moon.