In this, the slender cup of moon
Which hangs alone at the horizon,
There rests a liquid memory
Of ancient love, of living free.
Before this life, before these eyes
That only false love ever viewed,
Before this form I colonize,
There was a moon, set just so, skewed.
And by its fragile horns we swore
However long that we might live,
Even if, as is, forever more,
To love that long and never give
Another what we promised then.
And all loves since seemed ghostly thin
Compared to what was sworn that night
Which you, not I, betrayed at light.
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