The Moon is Compared to a City

What the Tired Reformer Said

The moon's a perfect city, with
Curved walls encompassed round;
With yellow palaces upreared
Upon a glittering ground.

Sometimes a disk, a planet dead;
But on this splendid night,
When all the sky is shining clear,
When my whole heart is light,

I think it is a place for friends.
My soul is there in mirth,
With golden-robed good-citizens,
Far from the dusty earth.

Hail to the perfect city then!
I love your doors and domes,
Your turrets and your palaces,
Your terraces, your homes.