HE feigned a fine indifference br To be so prodigal of light, br Knowing his piteous twisted things br Would lose the crooked marks of spite br When only moonbeams fit the dusk br And made his wicked world seem right. br br br But we forget so soon the shame, br Conceiving sweetness if we can br Heaven the citadel itself br Illumined on the lunar plan; br And I the chief of sinners, I br The middlemost Victorian! br br br Now I shall ride the misty lake br With my own love, and speak so low br That not a fishy thing shall hear br The secrets passing to and fro br Amid the moonlight poetries.