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Once, when the new moon glittered
So slender in the West,
I looked across my shoulder,
And a wild wish stirred my breast.


Over my white, right shoulder
I looked at the silver horn,
And wished a wish at even
To come to pass in the morn.


Whenever the new moon glittered,
So slender and so fine,
I looked across my shoulder,
And wished that wish of mine!


Now, when the West is rosy,
And the snow-wreaths blush below,
And I see the light white crescent
Float downward, soft and slow;


I never look over my shoulder,
As I used to look before;
For my heart is older and colder,
And now I wish no more!