Sweet bird, that shunn’st the noise of folly,
[Most musical, most melancholy!]
Thee, chauntress, oft the woods among
I woo, to hear thy even-song;
And, missing thee, I [walk unseen] 65
On the dry smooth-shaven green,
To behold the wandering moon,
Riding near her highest noon,
Like one that had been led astray
Through the heaven’s wide pathless way, 70