My girl has reached that lovely state
   That's half a bud and half a flower;
But I am near my berry time,
   Outnumbering her by many an hour.
Yet Love - who sometimes raises kings
   To the level of our common race -
Can see no difference in our state,
   In look, in word or grace.

The Moon to her has life and power -
   It is the Earth's white ghost to me;
Which tells the Earth of its decay,
   And mine, which Love's too blind to see.
Love her, my heart, that she may give
   My ghost this praise she gives the Moon:
Let not her shudder when she sees
   It thin away so soon.