Moonstruck

I have quarrelled with the Moon. I loved her once, As all boys love one face supremely fair. I had heard her praised, and I too, happy dunce, Let my tongue wag and made her my heart's prayer. My prayer! For what, great heaven? The midnight air Seemed trembling in her presence, and those nuns The worshipping host knelt round her, star and star, And sobbed ``magnificat'' in antiphons. She was my saint, queen, goddess. Then, one night, Another face I saw, which, not a god's, Moved me to dreams more sweet than reverence, And we were near our bliss, when from the clouds Her angry eyes looked down and drove us thence Moonstruck and blind and robbed of our delight.