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.
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