| Evening Star | |
| Edgar Allan Poe (1827) | |
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‘Twas noontide of summer, And mid-time of night; And stars, in their orbits, Shone pale, thro’ the light Of the brighter, cold moon, ‘Mid planets her slaves, Herself in the Heavens, Her beam on the waves. I gaz’d awhile On her cold smile; Too cold — too cold for me — There pass’d, as a shroud, A fleecy cloud, And I turn’d away to thee, Proud Evening Star, In thy glory afar, And dearer thy beam shall be; For joy to my heart Is the proud part Thou bearest in Heav’n at night, And more I admire Thy distant fire, Than that colder, lowly light. 
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