Classic Poem

The maiden moon is resting
The maiden mount above,
They gaze upon each other,
With cold majestic love.

So I and Thou, sweet sister,
Upon each other gaze,
Our love was warm, but sorrow
Has shorn it of its rays.

As in the hazy heav'n
That gentle Orb appears,
Thou lookest in my face,
Tearful,--not shedding tears.

Like thine, her face is pale,
But from within a light,
Mild--gleaming as thy spirit,
Comes out upon the night,

And casts a tender sheen
On that pale hill beneath,
Pale! as my heart, which wears
The dull--white hue of Death.