* DIANA *

Look not upon a moon that’ s new,

For with her bitter sickle keen

She comes between, she comes between,

And cuts the tender from the true.

Look not upon a white full moon:

Her stiff-starched pudency doth shame

The throbbing pulse, the leaping flame,

And freezes passion at its noon.

Look not upon a moon that’ s old

With fallen breast and shadowy eyes,

Till the last hope of loving dies,

And heart’ s outworn and blood run cold.