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Jones, Anna Maria: To the Moon
#1
Thou lovely sorceress of the witching night,
Whose paly charms through sombre regions glide;
Lured by the softness of thy silver light,
The Muse pathetic glows with conscious pride.

On the gemmed margin of the lustrous flood,
Whose ripling waters glide so sweetly by;
Oft have I listening to its murmurs stood,
Traced thy pure ray, and winged a lonely sigh!

For Thou, chaste Cynthia, o'er my gentle soul,
Shed'st the mild beam of contemplation's sway;
Thy fascinating spell with proud control

Sweeps the full cadence of my trembling lay:
Then gleam, bright orb, from midnight's velvet vest,
And dart thy pearly lustre o'er my pensive breast.
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