The round green eyes and the long wavering bodies

    Of the dark leopards¹ of the moon？

    All the wild witches， those most noble ladies，

    For all their broom-sticks and their tears，

    Their angry tears， are gone.

    The holy centaurs² of the hills are vanished；

    I have nothing but the embittered³ sun；

    Banished⁴ heroic mother moon and vanished，

    And now that I have come to fifty years

    I must endure the timid sun.