I HATE the changing-changeless moon,
The iteration of the sun,
The regularity of noon,
And systems that like clockwork run;

And I would leap and clap for joy
If morn for once would enter late
His empire, like a careless boy,
And make expectant twilight wait;

And I would dance for joy and shout
If the sun bartered gold for green,
Or if the moon would turn about
The silver side I've never seen.
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