Proceed, Moon.

It must be your imagination then, and not theirs.


More strange than true: I never may believe These antic fables, nor these fairy toys.   


Lovers and madmen have such seething brains, Such shaping fantasies, that apprehend More than cool reason ever comprehends.   


The lunatic, the lover and the poet  

Now the hungry lion roars,       And the wolf behowls the moon;