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.