Three men of Gotham

In a bowl to sea went wise men three,

On a brilliant night in June:

They carried a net, and their hearts were set

On fishing up the moon.

The sea was calm, the air was balm,

Not a breath stirred low or high,

And the moon, i trow, lay as bright below,

And as round as in the sky.

The wise men with the current went,

Nor paddle nor oar had they,

And still as the grave they went on the wave

That they might not disturb their prey.

Far, far at sea, were the wise men three,

When their fishing net they threw;

And at the throw, the moon below

In a thousand fragments flew.

The sea was bright with a dancing light

Of a million million gleams,

Which the broken moon shot forth as soon

As the net disturbed her beams.

They drew in their net; it was empty and wet,

And they had lost their pain;

Soon ceased the play of each dancing ray,

And the image was round again.

Three times they threw, three times they drew,

And all while were mute;

And evermore their wonder grew,

Till they could not but dispute.

Their silence they broke, and each one spoke

Full long, and loud, and clear;

A man at sea their voices three

Full three leagues off might hear.

The three wise men got home again

To their children and their wives;

But, touching their trip, and their net's vain dip,

They disputed all their lives.

The wise men three could never agree

Why they missed the promised boon;

They agreed alone that their net they had thrown,

And they had not caught the moon.