TO A LADY ASKING FOOLISH QUESTIONS

Why am I sorry, Chloe? Because the moon is far:

And who am I to be straitened in a little earthly star?

Because thy face is fair? And what if it had not been,

The fairest face of all is the face I have not seen.

Because the land is cold, and however I scheme and plot,

I cannot find a ferry to the land where I am not.

Because thy lips are red and thy breasts upbraid the snow?

( There is neither white nor red in the pleasance where I go. )

Because thy lips grow pale and thy breasts grow dun and fall?

I go where the wind blows, Chloe, and am not sorry at all.