Dissolves the moonlight’s tender mystery.
Lo! thou art not her semblance in the seas,
But the fair moon herself, that near or far,
Orbed high in heaven as a shining star
Or hid from sight at love’s antipodes;—
Still sways the waters with love’s restless tides;
Not by her own will; no coquette is she,—
The lovely moon to whom I liken thee;—
For high above our earthly air she glides,
Unconscious as the waves that rise to greet