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.