’Twas noontide of summer,

        And mid-time of night;

And stars, in their orbits,

        Shone pale, thro’ the light

Of the brighter, cold moon,

        ’Mid planets her slaves,

Herself in the Heavens,

        Her beam on the waves,

        I gaz’d awhile

        On her cold smile;

Too cold – too cold for me —

        There pass’d, as a shroud,

        A fleecy cloud,

And I turn’d away to thee,

        Proud Evening Star,

        In thy glory afar,

And dearer thy beam shall be;

        For joy to my heart

        Is the proud part

Thou bearest in Heav’n at night,

        And more I admire

        Thy distant fire.

Than that colder, lowly light.