Analysis of The Huguenot

"Love knows not its own depth until the hour
of separation." –Khalil Gibran

The orange moon ascends beyond the leaves
Like a child's balloon—upward it looms
Against nebulous night; upward it heaves
Its ancient amber light until it rooms
Itself in a muted, vacuous sky ...

There, alone below the moon's tender glow,
Helena holds back tears wondering why
Her dear love had to die. Creeds cannot know
The love that lovers undergo, nor feel
Or fathom its sacred birth: when two souls
Touch in a plain beyond this earth in real
And deepest ecstasy. Yet now there rolls
Soft tears from the heart of a broken soul
Whose only love, by a murderous plot,
Was killed on a leisurely moonlit stroll,
Because she was Catholic, and he was not.