ISSUE: Winter 1926
The moon lets down her glistening hair
That ripples on the lake;
They say, who climbs its golden strands
Her heart may take.
Once, was a Princess in a tower,
A cruel one attending;
A Prince who climbed too many times
To make a happy ending.
And were I bold enough to try
And mount so bright a stair,
How do I know that I would find
Only a Lady there?