Wanting the Moon

'don't cry, don't cry for the moon!'
Her restive heart would croon;
Her restive heart of delights and fears,
Of laughter tangled amid her tears,
'Don't cry for the moon!'

For she wanted the moon herself; wanted
The shimmering moon of wealth and love,
The moon of rank and fame that haunted
The heavens above her.
She wanted the moon, and so would sing
To any, with odd caprice, 'Don't cry!
Don't cry for the moon!'—betraying
Her own appeaseless sigh.

'Don't cry, don't cry for the moon!'
It broke her peace at last.
It broke her mind and it broke her heart,
And she died in a place that is set apart
For the moon-criers—who do not know
That the moon's for none—only its glow;
Only its even radiance, cast
On all, with aimless art.