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III.
"With how sad steps, O Moon thou climb'st the sky,
How silently, and with how wan a face[1]!"
Where art thou? Thou whom I have seen on high
Running among the clouds a Wood-nymph's race!
Unhappy Nuns, whose common breath's a sigh
Which they would stifle, move at such a pace!
The Northern Wind, to call thee to the chase,
Must blow to-night his bugle horn. Had I
The power of Merlin, Goddess! this should be:
And all the Stars, now shrouded up in heaven,
Should sally forth to keep thee company.
What strife would then be yours, fair Creatures, driven
Now up, now down, and sparkling in your glee!
But, Cynthia, should to Thee the palm be given,
Queen both for beauty and for majesty.
- ↑ From a sonnet of Sir Philip Sydney.
