The moon, so slow, so slow she swims

Across, across the pool, above.

No frothy kicks, no splash of limbs,

No motion made of passioned love.

The stars are still; they watch in awe

As slowly, slowly, on she goes.

They’re perfect in obeying laws;

She’s not enslaved to stately rows.

Then where, O Moon, doth romance bide?

“In souls where dreams are not denied,

In minds where failings are defied,

In wills of matching, ‘raise you’ pride!”

Faint frothy kicks, faint splash of limbs,

The new moon slowly, slowly, swims.