And the moon spun round like a top,
And the nearest kin of the moon,
The creeping cat, looked up.
Black Richter stared at the moon,
For, wander and wail as he would,
The pure cold light in the sky
Troubled his animal blood.
Richter runs in the grass
Lifting his delicate feet.
Do you dance, Richter, do you dance?
tribute to William Butler Yeats
