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(From Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage)
THE MOON is up, and yet it is not night,— | |
| Sunset divides the sky with her,—a sea | |
| Of glory streams along the Alpine height | |
| Of blue Friuli’s mountains; Heaven is free | |
| From clouds, but of all colors seems to be,— | 5 |
| Melted to one vast Iris of the West, | |
| Where the Day joins the past Eternity; | |
| While, on the other hand, meek Dian’s crest | |
| Floats through the azure air,—an island of the blest! | |
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| A single star is at her side, and reigns | 10 |
| With her o’er half the lovely heaven; but still | |
| Yon sunny sea heaves brightly, and remains | |
| Rolled o’er the peak of the far Rhætian hill, | |
| As Day and Night contending were, until | |
| Nature reclaimed her order;—gently flows | 15 |
| The deep-dyed Brenta, where their hues instil | |
| The odorous purple of a new-born rose, | |
| Which streams upon her stream, and glassed within glows. | |
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| Filled with the face of heaven, which, from afar, | |
| Comes down upon the waters; all its hues, | 20 |
| From the rich sunset to the rising star, | |
| Their magical variety diffuse: | |
| And now they change; a paler shadow strews | |
| Its mantle o’er the mountains; parting day | |
| Dies like the dolphin, whom each pang imbues | 25 |
| With a new color as it gasps away, | |
| The last still loveliest, till ’t is gone,—and all is gray. | |
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