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Moon
By Henry Rowe
1750-1819THEE too, modest tressed maid,
When thy fallen stars appear;
When in lawn of fire array'd
Sov'reign of yon powder'd sphere;
To thee I chant at close of day,
Beneath, O maiden Moon! thy ray.
Throned in sapphired ring supreme,
Pregnant with celestial juice,
On silver wing thy diamond stream
Gives what summer hours produce;
While view'd impearl'd earth's rich inlay,
Beneath, O maiden Moon! thy ray.
Glad, pale Cynthian wine I sip,
Breathed the flow'ry leaves among;
Draughts delicious wet my lip;
Drown'd in nectar drunk my song;
While tuned to Philomel the lay,
Beneath, O maiden Moon! thy ray.
Dew, that od'rous ointment yields,
Sweets, that western winds disclose,
Bathing spring's more purpled fields,
Soft 's the band that winds the rose;
While o'er thy myrtled lawns I stray
Beneath, O maiden Moon! thy ray.
DayPoems Poem No. 460
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The DayPoems web site, www.daypoems.net, is copyright 2001-2006 by Timothy Keith Bovee. All rights reserved.
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