Parading

Pale moth, that from the moon doth fly,

Fickle enchantments weaving,
Fickle enchantments weaving,
Night faery, come my lady nigh
Night faery, come my lady nigh
When the rich masques are leaving;
When the rich masques are leaving;
Tell her who lieth still alone —Robert Fitzgerald
Tell her who lieth still alone
—Robert Fitzgerald

atoms

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