Leaped, clutching at the sky, and rolled supine
A muddy rascal, steeped in mire and shame.
This is our common madness. Am not I
Moon-haunted by thy beauty? Yet I stand
No farther from the empress of the sky
Than from one touch of thy all-conquering hand;
And though my songs made all the heavens sigh,
I know you will not pity, nor understand.