DEAD I was the moon. A shadow hid me and I knew what it meant not to be at all. The moon in eclipse is sad and sinless. There is no passion in her plight. Cold, unlighted, moving in trance, she comes to her station or passes again to her place; uncovers her loneliness: eyeless behind no eyelids has neither sleeping nor waking, no body, parts, nor passions, no loving, perceiving, having, nor being; moves only in a wayless night; and drifting, as a ship without direction, sinks to a forgotten depth, among weeds, among stones. -- Rhoda Coghill (1903-2000) Born in Dublin, the late Ms. Coghill was a published poet, concert pianist, teacher, and accompanist at BBC. As a young woman she composed a large-scale orchestral work, "Out of the Cradle, Endlessly Rocking."