The round green eyes and the long wavering bodies
Of the dark leopards 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 centaurs of the hills are vanished；
I have nothing but the embittered sun；
Banished heroic mother moon and vanished，
And now that I have come to fifty years
I must endure the timid sun.