Cast through my heart some thin, pallid light
tangled in shadows that flow in the night,
ocean of darkness, with eddying black
muddled with motion, like spidering crack,
O moon, bright phantom.
Sing with a melody argent and fine,
higher than bell and as tinny as tine,
thin as a reed and yet rich as the spray,
angel-like mists that aeolian play,
O moon, sweet cantor.
Dream me a dream, my alchemist sprite,
manic with madness from unction of light,
pure as a potion, a medicine deep,
thick as forever and stringent as sleep,
O moon, cold curer.