If there be such a man, that man is poor,
Though sums untold within his coffers lie.
I love the sun—the bright impartial sun,
Which shineth on the evil and the good!
I love the moon—the pale and pensive moon,
When, walking thoughtful in the silent night,
She throws her mellow rays on every scene,
Peopling with fairy forms the forest shades,
As her mild eye looks through the moving trees.
I love the stars—“the poetry of Heaven!”