Moonrise

Will you glimmer on the sea?	
Will you fling your spear-head	
On the shore?	
What note shall we pitch?	
 
We have a song,	        
On the bank we share our arrows—	
The loosed string tells our note:	
 
O flight,	
Bring her swiftly to our song.	
She is great,	        
We measure her by the pine-trees.