What counsel has the hooded moon
Put in thy heart, my shyly sweet,
Of Love in ancient plenilune,
Glory and stars beneath his feet–
A sage that is but kith and kin
With the comedian Capuchin?
Believe me rather that am wise
In disregard of the divine,
A glory kindles in those eyes,
Trembles to starlight Mine, O Mine!
No more be tears in moon or mist
For thee, sweet sentimentalist.
By: James Joyce