I observe our sentimental friend, the moon.

That exquisite nocturne, with which we explain the night and moonshine; 

 music which we seize to body forth our own vacuity

"Does this refer to me?"

Heavens, no! It is I who am inane! 

You, madam, are the eternal humorist, the eternal enemy of the absolute;

 Giving our vagrant moods the slightest twist!

You can have my isolation

You can have the hate that it brings

You can have my absence of faith

You can have my everything

She and I are going to live forever,

The two brightest stars up in heaven