FLOS LUNAE

By Ernest Christopher Dowson

I would not alter thy cold eyes,

Nor trouble the calm fount of speech

With aught of passion or surprise.

The heart of thee I cannot reach:

I would not alter thy cold eyes!

I would not alter thy cold eyes;

Nor have thee smile, nor make thee weep:

Though all my life droops down and dies,

Desiring thee, desiring sleep,

I would not alter thy cold eyes.

I would not alter thy cold eyes;

I would not change thee if I might,

To whom my prayers for incense rise,

Daughter of dreams! my moon of night!

I would not alter thy cold eyes.

I would not alter thy cold eyes,

With trouble of the human heart:

Within their glance my spirit lies,

A frozen thing, alone, apart;

I would not alter thy cold eyes.