For a walk I headed on
In search of that, of which
I write many an ornate word.
I chased but just its wake
Of that light which shines
Now mercury, now silver.
I ran and yet I felt its chill
It smiled from its lunar sky
Morbidly indulgent of me.
There it was and then not, There again and not again.
There it was and then not, There again and not again.
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