Awakening in midsummer, the speaker glimpses a thinned moon just before dawn. He compares it to a fingernail held against a candle flame or a delicate paring of fruit—still lovely but drained of light. The moon appears to step away from the dark mountain of Maenefa, yet a last curve of the summit still clasps it, a fluke yet fangs it, not quite letting go. This sight, unsought, comes as a gift while he is barely conscious. It gently parts his eyelids, slicing through the leaves of sleep, dividing slumber itself. The mood is hushed and luminous, a tender shock of waking to something fleetingly beautiful. There is a deep gratitude for this transient wonder that touches the world’s edge and the mind at the border between night and day.
Moonrise — Summary
I awoke in the Midsummer not to call night, in the white and the walk of the morning: The moon, dwindled and thinned to the fringe of a finger-nail held to the candle, Or paring of paradisaical fruit, lovely in waning but lustreless, Stepped from the stool, drew back from the barrow, of dark Maenefa the mountain;
A cusp still clasped him, a fluke yet fanged him, entangled him, not quite utterly. This was the prized, the desirable sight, unsought, presented so easily, Parted me leaf and leaf, divided me, eyelid and eyelid of slumber.