Look how the pale Queen of the silent nightdoth cause the ocean to attend upon her,and he, as long as she is in sight,with his full tide is ready here to honor;
But when the silver waggon of the Moonis mounted up so high he cannot follow,the sea calls home his crystal waves to morn,and with low ebb doth manifest his sorrow.
Labels: moon, poem
posted by Non-Productive.com at 8:23 PM
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