TO LUNA

 SISTER of the first-born light,

Type of sorrowing gentleness!

Quivering mists in silv'ry dress
Float around thy features bright;
When thy gentle foot is heard,

From the day-closed caverns then

Wake the mournful ghosts of men,
I, too, wake, and each night-bird.


O'er a field of boundless span

Looks thy gaze both far and wide.


Raise me upwards to thy side!
Grant this to a raving man!
And to heights of rapture raised,

Let the knight so crafty peep

At his maiden while asleep,
Through her lattice-window glazed.


Soon the bliss of this sweet view,

Pangs by distance caused allays;

And I gather all thy rays,
And my look I sharpen too.

Round her unveil'd limbs I see

Brighter still become the glow,

And she draws me down below,
As Endymion once drew thee.


1767-9.

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