She was wearing the coral taffeta trousers <br />Someone had brought her from Ispahan, <br />And the little gold coat with pomegranate blossoms, <br />And the coral-hafted feather fan; <br />But she ran down a Kentish lane in the moonlight, <br />And skipped in the pool of the moon as she ran. <br /> <br />She cared not a rap for all the big planets, <br />For Betelgeuse or Aldebaran, <br />And all the big planets cared nothing for her, <br />That small impertinent charlatan; <br />But she climbed on a Kentish stile in the moonlight, <br />And laughed at the sky through the sticks of her fan.<br /><br />Victoria Sackville-West<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/full-moon-33/
