  I I thought to hold thy memory as the sea Holds in its heart a pale reflected moon, Lost when the sunny radiance of noon Dissolves the moonlight’s tender mystery. Lo! thou art not her semblance in the seas, But the fair moon herself, that near or far, Orbed high in heaven as a shining star Or hid from sight at love’s antipodes;— Still sways the waters with love’s restless tides; Not by her own will; no coquette is she,— The lovely moon to whom I liken thee;— For high above our earthly air she glides, Unconscious as the waves that rise to greet Her coming, of the mystery of God’s law Compelling her those far-off waves to draw |
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