Oh Moon, it is a passionate delight
To pore upon thy beautiful wan face,
And watch thee treading thy lone way by night,
Like Psyche seeking her blind Love's embrace!
What art thou, fairest Vision? Thou dost seem
Sometimes a northern nymph, climbing the snows
Of her free mountains proudly. Awhile I deem
Thou art a mermaid, whose moist forehead glows
To see thy beauties mirrored, and dost dress
Thy golden tresses by the sheeny sea.
Sometimes I think thee a chaste shepherdess,
Tending thy white-fleeced flock on some lone lea.
But now thou'rt Sestos' Hero—and dost wander,
Looking among the waves, to find thy drowned Leander.