While gazing on the moon's light,
A moment from her smile I turned,
To look at orbs, that, more bright,
In lone and distant glory burned.
But _too_ far
Each proud star,
For me to feel its warming flame;
Much more dear
That mild sphere.
Which near our planet smiling came;
Thus, Mary, be but thou my own;
While brighter eyes unheeded play,
I'll love those moonlight looks alone,
That bless my home and guide my way.
The day had sunk in dim showers,
But midnight now, with lustre meet.
Illumined all the pale flowers,
Like hope upon a mourner's cheek.
I said (while
The moon's smile
Played o'er a stream, in dimpling bliss,)
"The moon looks
"On many brooks,
"The brook can see no moon but this;"[1]
And thus, I thought, our fortunes run,
For many a lover looks to thee,
While oh! I feel there is but _one_,
_One_ Mary in the world for me.
[1] This image was suggested by the following thought, which occurs
somewhere In Sir William Jones's works: "The moon looks upon many night-
flowers, the night flower sees but one moon."