While Moon descends upon the mortal play
And fits her lines upon the common page,
Not ruler then, but friend and humble sage,
She sooner puts on coarse than bright array.
Her acts delight and wane above the fray,
So actors bow and tumble off the stage
Mistaking royal poise for covered rage,
Though night still hopes their fear to praise will sway
Her audience left and spurned what she would teach
So none record her solitary speech,
Her face transfigured to a black disguise.
None stayed to listen when the artists preach
And fellow actress drifted out of reach
Until familiar line, abandoned, dies.