| When have I last looked on |
| The round green eyes and the long wavering bodies |
| Of the dark leopards of the moon? |
| All the wild witches, those most noble ladies, |
| For all their broom-sticks and their tears, |
| Their angry tears, are gone. |
| The holy centaurs of the hills are vanished; |
| I have nothing but the embittered sun; |
| Banished heroic mother moon and vanished, |
| And now that I have come to fifty years |
| I must endure the timid sun. |