1. O moon of secrets, O my robe
Of green brocade enfolding me,

2. You've turned into a withered love -
If not for fire's heat, you'd wither.

3. For a brief time you sat with him
And so are called the assembly's lord,

4. You saw the sciences shine forth
In you - else you'd not lead the throng.

5. So you proceed in eight or twenty
Enthusiastic steps across the church,

6. Upon a sturdy steed forged of
Hard brass - a bankrupt's handiwork.