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Poem by Jonathan Swift
On the Moon
I with borrow'd silver shine What you see is none of mine. First I show you but a quarter, Like the bow that guards the Tartar: Then the half, and then the whole, Ever dancing round the pole. What will raise your admiration, I am not one of God's creation, But sprung, (and I this truth maintain,) Like Pallas, from my father's brain. And after all, I chiefly owe My beauty to the shades below. Most wondrous forms you see me wear, A man, a woman, lion, bear, A fish, a fowl, a cloud, a field, All figures Heaven or earth can yield; Like Daphne sometimes in a tree; Yet am not one of all you see.
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