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.