Littell's Living Age/Volume 170/Issue 2200/Luna
Deep slumber hung o'er sea and hill and plain;
With pale pink cheek fresh from her watery caves
Slow rose the moon out of the midnight waves,
Like Venus out of ocean born again.
Olympian blazed she on the dark blue main;
"So shall, ye gods," — hark how my weak hope raves! —
"My happy star ascend the sea that laves
Its shores with grief, and silence all my pain!"
With that there sighed a wandering midnight breeze
High up among the topmost tufted trees,
And o'er the moon's face blew a veil of cloud;
And in the breeze my genius spake, and said,
"While thy heart stirred, thy glimmering hope has fled,
And like the moon lies muffled in a shroud."