Classic Poem

Now that it is moonlight I must be mournful,
Darken my eyes and whiten my face;
Wander by myself with a lonely lily grace.
And here are lovely tears, a whole silver hornful!—
Blow them like beads upon the velvet of this place.

Forget my blue sash and my gallant yellow ruffle—
I am now a statue, I am stone-gowned.
So when you blow that silver, mind that you muffle
The silver sound of blowing; even tears on the ground,
Falling and pooling, must make no sound.

Just for this moonlight, I think that I shall borrow
One shiny grief no greater than a star—
(Someone might be fickle, or everyone afar!)
So that I can sit in silence saying, “Sorrow, Sorrow!—
My very own Sorrow, how adorable you are.”