By night upon this housetop oft he sat;

He watched the young moon as the light of day

Grew dim from east to west; he tarrying yet

Her crescent sank; on snow crowned Hermon lay

The lingering twilight, with a roseate hue

Tinging the snow, the small hills lost to view.

He formed that light; he framed the darkness too.

Let me believe that on this humble floor

His mother sought a piece of money lost,

And swept the house; his young eyes counting o’er