He held her in his Celtic gaze
And there, he made his choice
Ne’er to shackle her bold, wild ways
And ne’er to quiet her voice
Four days and nights she did not speak
Her tongue was curs’d, she thought
Nor tears, nor smiles, nor food, nor sleep
Could cease her breath ne’er caught
The moon quite full, their nights, but two
His arms about her wrapp’d
And now moon new, two nights, too few
Yet purpos’d cupid’s trap.
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