157
The blossom as the fruit succeeds the flower,
And, all too late, the fruit when boughs are bare!
Who, when they should be doing dream so late
They sleep the clock round, wilder'd with false fires,
Waking, deem sunset sunrise, dusk the dawn,
The star of evening the morning star.
Fantastick truly is the moonstruck crew!
Gilles:
But when we leave this uncongenial earth,
Then is our guerdon, then our great reward,
Departing, happy, the luminous path we take
Where melts the mirror'd brightness of our star
Reticulate in silver on the sea,
And happy, follow the green and silver way
Up to the regent of our lunacy,
Our Goddess, Mistress, Queen and Mother Moon.
