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 want
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.
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