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Forevermore
The clear white waters of the moon
Remember hills of earth-shadow more
Than the metallic flaming sun,
Or the most frozen star.
So, if you seek an altar-god,
Turn from the stars, turn from the sun;
Though suckled by the mother-sun,
Fly to the moon:
There you will learn the mystery
Whereof all lovely gods are made:
Beautiful coldness-and over all
A strange shade.
HER CROWN