‘With how sad steps O Moon thou climbst the sky
How silently，and with how wan a face! ’➀
Where art thou? Thou so often seen on high
running among the clouds a Wood-nymph’s race! ➁
Unhappy nuns，whose common breath’s a sigh
Which they would stifle，move at such a pace!
The northern Wind，to call thee to the chase，
Must blow to-night his bugle horn. Had I➂
The power of Merlin，Goddess! This shoud be:➃
And all the stars，fast as the clouds were riven，
Should sally forth，to keep thee company，
Hurrying and sparkling through the clear blue heaven；
But，Cynthia! Should to thee the plam be given，
Queen both for beauty and for majesty.
Even as a dragon’s eye that feels the stress
Of a bedimming sleep，or as a lamp
Sullenly glaring through sepulchral damp，
So burns yon Taper’mid a black recess
Of mountains，silent，dreary，motionless:
The lake below reflects it not；the sky
Muffled in clouds，affords no company
To mitigate and cheer its loneliness.
Yet，round the body of that joyless Thing
Which sends so far its melancholy light，
Perhaps are seated in domestic ring
A gay society with faces bright，
Conversing，reading，laughing；—or they sing，
While hearts and voices in the song unite.