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"With how sad steps, O Moon thou climb'st the sky,How silently, and with how wan a face!"[1]Where art thou? Thou whom I have seen on highRunning among the clouds a Wood-nymph's race?Unhappy Nuns, whose common breath's a sighWhich they would stifle, move at such a pace!The Northern Wind, to call thee to the chace,Must blow tonight his bugle horn. Had IThe power of Merlin, Goddess! this should be:And all the Stars, now shrouded up in heaven,Should sally forth to keep thee company.What strife would then be yours, fair Creatures, driv'nNow up, now down, and sparkling in your glee!But, Cynthia, should to Thee the palm be giv'n,Queen both for beauty and for majesty.
  1. ↑ From a sonnet of Sir Philip Sydney.
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