How Falsehood trips in her deceits on men!
And stands abash’d, discover’d, and forlorn!
Had it been only cusp’d—but gibbous—then
It had gone down—but Faith drew back in scorn,
And would not swallow it—without a horn!
“I am in occultation,—that is plain:
My culmination’s past,—that’s quite as clear.
But think not I will suffer your disdain
To hang a lunar rainbow on a tear.
Whate’er my pangs, they shall be buried here;