“This bright bait lures me only,—
Like more before it, comes to go,
And leave life dark and lonely.
Past yon horizon, things are strewn
With broken moons,” I told her:
“Each bore a bright hope, too, each moon,
When over my right shoulder.
“Alas to trust in each new light,
A man were moonstruck, surely,—
A lunatic!”—We laugh’d outright,