Cynthia

She had a curious name. It seemed
A name that should cling to a queen
Of some imagined court where knights
Speak only in the crystal verse
Inspired by the contemplation of the moon.
She lived next door. How far
A distance with a fence between!
I called her names. How else
Should nine years old distract nineteen?
To frenzy driven by this silver ford
Of altering, inalterable years,
I’d sit upon my bed and read
Of Lancelot and Guinevere
(Though I demurred as to their oath)
Until the wax left blotches on my hands
And that same moon shone through the clouds
Which of all things alone seemed like to her.
But did you know? Endymion
Won Luna at the last.