The New Moon

by Sara Teasdale

　　

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Day, you have bruised and beaten me, As rain beats down the bright, proud sea, Beaten my body, bruised my soul, Left me nothing lovely or whole, Yet I have wrested a gift from you, Day that dies in dusky blue: For suddenly over the factories I saw a moon in the cloudy seas, A wisp of beauty all alone In a world as hard and gray as stone, Oh who could be bitter and want to die When a maiden moon wakes up in the sky?

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