"'I have loved, Weaver, as much as anyone could;
And I long, I have longed, the length of milky time,
But my breasts, my heart invaded, were then made cold;
Tell them, too, that in youth my heart would teem
With the blown breath of Moonlight's April rain —
I was a young girl then; I was....'       My words
Metamorphose to mist reminiscing pain...;
When Moonlight rose from me into the woods

I culled among my troops my curdling hate
For her, young girl whom Moonlight prizes most;
I made for him and his newest love a broken heart —
Let them pine forever; those nights, my flood hosts
Of eroding tears cankered the moons — my plaint —
Until all   but the strongest   like me   split apart..."