Why Am I Sorry, Chloe? Because The Moon Is Far: And Who Am I To Be Straitened In A Little Earthly Star? Because Thy Face Is Fair? And What If It Had Not Been, The Fairest Face Of All Is The Face I Have Not Seen. Because The Land Is Cold, And However I Scheme And Plot, I Cannot Find A Ferry To The Land Where I Am Not. Because Thy Lips Are Red And Thy Breasts Upbraid The Snow? (There Is Neither White Nor Red In The Pleasance Where I Go.) Because Thy Lips Grow Pale And Thy Breasts Grow Dun And Fall? I Go Where The Wind Blows, Chloe, And Am Not Sorry At All.