The Man of the Moon

Her face is not a palest moon,
For shadows wait a velvet sky,
Painting, painting their mistress
In lonely months gone by.

Yet, a man does sit in longing eye,
Unaware of the world
When she sits high,
Carved of the same fancy:
A man, but a man, she sigh...

So be not the shadows,
Always standing by;
And the lover, be not the moon
In our own, changing sky.