Luna, whilst o’er yon eastern barrier mounting
With stately step, and face serenely bright,
Thou looks’t as grave, and silent, as if counting
The little stars that stud the brow of night.
Thy head reclining on a cloudy pillow
Thou seems’t to listen to the whisp’ring gale
Now piercing through a pendant shade of willow
Thy glance pursues the streamlet of the vale.
And now behind some dusky vapour’s awning
In frolic mood thou seem’st to skulk from view,
That thy full charms in heighten’d splendor dawning
May strike the disappointed sight anew.
To pleasingly coquetish is thy motion
E’en stupid darkness, it, delights to see,
No wonder, that an object of devotion
Oh lovely wand’rer! Heathens reckon’d thee, Endymion.