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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=536486" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Moonstruck</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=536486" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">I have quarrelled with the Moon. I loved her once,<br>As all boys love one face supremely fair.<br>I had heard her praised, and I too, happy dunce,<br>Let my tongue wag and made her my heart's prayer.<br>My prayer! For what, great heaven? The midnight air<br>Seemed trembling in her presence, and those nuns<br>The worshipping host knelt round her, star and star,<br>And sobbed ``magnificat'' in antiphons.<br>She was my saint, queen, goddess. Then, one night,<br>Another face I saw, which, not a god's,<br>Moved me to dreams more sweet than reverence,<br>And we were near our bliss, when from the clouds<br>Her angry eyes looked down and drove us thence<br>Moonstruck and blind and robbed of our delight.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Wilfrid+Scawen+Blunt">Wilfrid Scawen Blunt</a></strong></div>

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