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Littell's Living Age/Volume 173/Issue 2244/Moon-Thirst

Who knows — yon ancient planet waterless,
Once swayed with ocean; yonder caves, whence night
Not ever is dispelled, were swum with light,
And floods and verdurous mountains felt the stress
Of winds that smote the shining capes, to bless
Woodlands with power and ships with men of might:
While cloud-encircled and more softly bright
The moon walked on in gleaming spotlessness?
Now, cold of heart, and evermore accursed
With death, white ashes strewn upon her head,
Blind on her course the haggard phantom moves;
But fierce and unallayable her thirst,
To earth's far seas in vain her hands are spread;
She strains to tilt the ocean cup she loves.