I used to have a sweet star, which gleamed over childhood dark some scene
Through high fleecy floating clouds of silvery radiance newly seen
Spangled of light on my summer evening's shadowy veil,
Which shrouded the day-beam from the long day tale
I used to watch it Lighting the hour of pure holy love; more sweet
Than the expiring morning star which fires from the East
Sweet star! When wearied of rebuke and chide I sank to sleep,
And all was hushed, all, save the whisper of the tree foliage I so crave to keep
Those broken murmurings swelled the balmy blast in the vale
Of soft citrus trees, which at intervals
Sighed in my ear of the stillness of holy hour
Lulling the leaves who were ready to repose in the bower
With that mild, pitying gaze Oh, I would look
In my dear star beam till every bond of sense became enamored
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