When sometimes, on a moony night, I've passed

A street-lamp, seen my doubled shadow flee,

The full moon poured her silhouette of me.

Limns with a ray more pure, and tenderer too:

Surpass the shapes they show by human view.

Her youngest son, to save us, Beauty flung.

And comforts yet the ardent and the young.

Dizzy with stars, his mortal fever ran:

Not free from folly—for he too was man.

Where topless towers shadow golden streets,