Madame Moon, in a pale-gray gown

Madame Moon, in a pale-gray gown,

amid the blue velvet and green satin

of her opal-ceilinged salons,

receives the versemakers.

Rolling her topaz-haloed brow,

among swarms of misty clouds,

she listens in feigned ecstasy

to the songs of her mad followers.

Our regrets, our wishes, our joys, our pains,

she's known them all for ten thousand years!

To heal our hearts from the torments

sown by the cold smiles of women, her sisters,

she gaily decks her smile

with caressing sweetness.

When the far-off chandelier

of stars goes out,

she slowly unhooks the veils

from her azure curtains.

We think she sleeps, tired and alone,

but her mother-of-pearl chariot

with the shining axles takes her fleeing round the Earth,

and already, under other skies,

Madame Moon, in a pale-gray gown,

amid the blue velvet and green satin

of her opal-ceilinged salons,

receives the versemakers.