O moon of illusion, enchanting men with tinsel vision along the vein, cocks crow up a rival to mock your face and eclipse that oval which conjured us to leave our reason and come to this fabled horizon of caprice. Dawn shall dissever your silver veil which let lover think lover beautiful; the light of logic will show us that all moonstruck magic is dissolute: no sweet disguises withstand that stare whose candor exposes love`s paling sphere. In gardens of squalor the sleepers wake as their golden jailer turns the rack; each sacred body night yielded up is mangled by study of microscope: facts have blasted the angel`s frame and stern truth twisted the radiant limb. Reflect in terror the scorching sun: dive at your mirror and drown within.SourceThe script ran 0.003 seconds.
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