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THE MOON was but a chin of goldtA night or two ago,tAnd now she turns her perfect facetUpon the world below.tHer forehead is of amplest blond;t Her cheek like beryl stone;tHer eye unto the summer dewtThe likest I have known.tHer lips of amber never part;tBut what must be the smileUpon her friend she could bestowtWere such her silver will!tAnd what a privilege to betBut the remotest star!tFor certainly her way might passt Beside your twinkling door.tHer bonnet is the firmament,tThe universe her shoe,tThe stars the trinkets at her belt,tHer dimities of blue.
