Emily Dickinson imagines the moon as a stunning, almost royal woman. The speaker remembers when the moon was just a sliver — a “Chin of Gold” — and now she turns her full, perfect face upon the world. Every facial detail gets lavish treatment: a broad blonde forehead, a cheek carved from beryl, eyes that evoke summer dew. Her amber lips never part, yet the speaker daydreams about the smile she might grant a friend if her “Silver Will” allowed it — a phrase that hints at cool, sovereign power. There’s a quiet sense of privilege in simply being a distant star that sees her pass by. The poem ends by dressing her in the cosmos: the night sky becomes her bonnet, the universe her shoe, stars the trinkets at her belt. The mood is one of gentle wonder, transforming the familiar moon into an intimate, majestic presence right outside your door.
The Moon was but a Chin of Gold — Summary
The Moon was but a Chin of Gold A Night or two ago -- And now she turns Her perfect Face Upon the World below --
Her Forehead is of Amplest Blonde -- Her Cheek -- a Beryl hewn -- Her Eye unto the Summer Dew The likest I have known --
Her Lips of Amber never part -- But what must be the smile Upon Her Friend she could confer Were such Her Silver Will --
And what a privilege to be But the remotest Star -- For Certainty She take Her Way Beside Your Palace Door --
Her Bonnet is the Firmament -- The Universe -- Her Shoe -- The Stars -- the Trinkets at Her Belt -- Her Dimities -- of Blue --