When the moon sails out

Though nurtured like the sailing moon

In beauty’s murderous brood,

She walked awhile and blushed awhile

And on my pathway stood

Until I thought her body bore

A heart of flesh and blood.


But since I laid a hand thereon

And found a heart of stone

I have attempted many things

And not a thing is done

For every hand is lunatic

That travels on the moon.


She smiled and that transfigured me

And left me but a lout

Maundering here, and maundering there

Emptier of thought

Than the heavenly circuit of its stars

When the moon sails out.


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