All poets greet thee with their longing eyes,—
Thou art to them a river of delight;
Their choicest pages praise thee with their might:
Unnumber’d titles to thy form are given,
As they behold thee in th’ unbounded heaven:
Soul-stirring Byron loved the night, and strove
T’immortalise thee as “the lamp of love.”
(Another tries thy title to improve.)
Most welcome were its hallow’d beams to those
Whose long day’s journey drew near to a close.