Full Moon

She was wearing the coral taffeta

Someone had brought her from Ispahan,

And the little gold coat with pomegranate blossoms,

And the coral-hafted feather fan;

But she ran down a Kentish lane in the moonlight,

And skipped in the pool of the moon as she ran.

She cared not a rap for all the big planets,

For Betelgeuse or Aldebaran,

And all the big planets cared nothing for her,

That small impertinent charlatan;

But she climbed on a Kentish stile in the moonlight,

And laughed at the sky through the sticks of her fan.