To The Moon Poem by Albert Pike

Oh, quickly rise,
Thou lovely and most welcome Moon!
Look into my sad eyes,
Ere sober Night too quickly hies;—
And bless me soon!

Here I have kept,
Watching to see thine advent bright,
While others lay and slept;
As I at other times have wept,
For day's fresh light.

Here I have lain,
And eastward kept my anxious gaze,
But all thus far in vain:
No shower of light like silver rain
Shines through the haze.

The evening star
Has chidden me, saying, 'Get to bed!
She wanders yet afar,
Where the great Asian deserts are
Inhabited

'By Scythian hordes;
Or where the springs of Indus rise;
Or flash the fiery swords
Of dry Sahara's Arab lords;
Or where the skies

'Smile on the shores
Of Teneriffe, or on old Rome:
Or where the Danube roars;
Or, tortured by Venetian oars,
The lagunes foam.'

That star has set
Behind the western hills; and thou
Hast not arisen yet,
Though all the silver stars are met
In heaven now.

Ah! here she comes!
And all those silver stars grow pale,
As, swimming through gray glooms,
The queen of love and light illumes
Crag, hill and dale.

Now I can sleep,
If thou wilt but vouchsafe to shine
From heaven's abysses deep,
And pleasantly mine eyelids steep
In light divine.

The stars that peer,
Like timid children, from on high,
(Small pilots they, that steer
Their sparkling boats around thy sphere),
Love not as I.

Adieu! Adieu!
My heavy lids begin to close,
And from thy domain blue,
Sleep's gentle and refreshing dew
Upon them flows.

Stay in thy flight!
In at my humble casement shine,
And bless with thy soft light,
Oh, silver nautilus of night,
All that is mine!