The moon is wan and chill - 
And Piteously cold ... 
As a brooch dully gleaming 
On a dead woman's breast - 
And all the pitted sorrows of the ages, 
Are upon its face. 

The moon is soft and glowing - 
Near and lovely ... 
For my love is coming 
From behind the shadowed trees - 
And all the world is bathed, 
In silver radiance. 

         TVD.