When the moon shows cold and slender,
Stand beneath her starved light,
Wearing only white and silver-
Say, to whet her appetite,
I make my vow to fast until
This crescent Moon shines round and full;
While she waxes let me wane:
I must lose, that she may gain
While she grows, take silver wine
Silver wine, silver milk
And bread like snow, or linen fine,
And fish as clear as ice or silk-
But only these, and less of all
Than you would wish, to feed her well.