The Far Side Of Your Moon

The far side of your moon is black,
And glorius grows the vine;
Ask anything of me you lack,
But only what is mine.

Yours is the great wheel of the sun
And yours the unclouded sky;
Then take my stars, take every one
But wear them openly.

Walking in splendor through the plain
For all the world to see,
Since none again shall view again
The match of you and me.

by Robert Graves

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