Why am I sorry, Chloe? Because the moon is far: br And who am I to be straitened in a little earthly star? br br Because thy face is fair? And what if it had not been, br The fairest face of all is the face I have not seen. br br Because the land is cold, and however I scheme and plot, br I cannot find a ferry to the land where I am not. br br Because thy lips are red and thy breasts upbraid the snow? br (There is neither white nor red in the pleasance where I go.) br br Because thy lips grow pale and thy breasts grow dun and fall? br I go where the wind blows, Chloe, and am not sorry at all.