What counsel has the hooded moon
Put in thy heart, my shyly sweet,
Of Love in ancient plenilune,
Glory and stars beneath his feet –
A sage that is but kith and kin
With the comedian capuchin?
Believe me rather that am wise
In disregard of the divine.
A glory kindles in those eyes,
Trembles to starlight. Mine, O mine!
No more be tears in moon or mist
For thee, sweet sentimentalist.