O moon, O lamp of hill and secret dale! Thou whom our fathers, ages out of mind, Worshipped in thy blue heaven, whilst behind Thy stars streamed after thee a glittering trail,
Dost see the poet, weary-eyed and pale, Or lovers on their happy beds reclined, Showing white teeth in sleep, or vipers twined, 'Neath the dry sward; or in a golden veil
Stealest thou with faint footfall o'er the grass As of old, to kiss from twilight unto dawn The faded charms of thine Endymion? .
"O child of this sick century, I see Thy grey-haired mother leering in her glass And plastering the breast that suckled thee! "
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