The speaker playfully invites someone to match the moon’s familiar face — the brow, the stooping eyes, a fog meant for some “Sake.” She notes that even though the chin shifts like fashion, the resemblance endures. Calling the person “Ishmael,” she reminds them how long it’s been, and how fashions intervene. At full moon, the face is unmistakably you, the name almost spoken. In the crescent, it’s worn but still golden. Clouds may someday slash you away, but that, she says, is easier than that other “film” that glazes holiday — perhaps the fog of forgetting or the distance that dulls a special memory. She holds the beloved’s image in the moon, aware that time blurs it, but the golden core stays. The mood is intimate, wistful, and a little teasing, like a private joke grown bittersweet.
You know that Portrait in the Moon -- — Summary
You know that Portrait in the Moon -- So tell me who 'tis like -- The very Brow -- the stooping eyes -- A fog for -- Say -- Whose Sake?
The very Pattern of the Cheek -- It varies -- in the Chin -- But -- Ishmael -- since we met -- 'tis long -- And fashions -- intervene --
When Moon's at full -- 'Tis Thou -- I say -- My lips just hold the name -- When crescent -- Thou art worn -- I note -- But -- there -- the Golden Same --
And when -- Some Night -- Bold -- slashing Clouds Cut Thee away from Me -- That's easier -- than the other film That glazes Holiday --