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