And these were the dishes wherein to me, hunger-starven for thee, they served up the sun and the moon.
The moons of Uranus seem to have got a twist.
What is the course of the life Of mortal men on the earth? Most men eddy about Here and thereeat and drink, Chatter and love and hate, Gather and squander, are raised Aloft, are hurld in the dust, Striving blindly, achieving Nothing; and, then they die Perish; and no one asks Who or what they have been, More than he asks what waves In the moonlit solitudes mild Of the midmost Ocean, have swelld, Foamd for a moment, and gone.
The moon, a sweeping scimitar, dipped in the stormy straits, The dawn, a crimson cataract, burst through the eastern gates, The cliffs were robed in scarlet, the sands were cinnabar, Where first two men spread wings for flight and dared the hawk afar.
Just like the moon, I'll step aside, and let your sun shine while I follow behind...
The moon like a flower In heaven's high bower, With silent delight, Sits and smiles on the night.
What good is the moon if you can't buy or sell it?
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