To-night when the full-bellied moon swallows the stars. Grant that I know.
Can you see through the night, woman, that you stare so upon it? Man, what sparks do your eyes follow in the smouldering darkness?
Witches are moon-birds,
Witches are the women of the false, beautiful moon.
Life is a stream On which we strew Petal by petal the flower of our heart.
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