Walter Savage Landor (1775–1864)

I HAVE beheld thee in the morning hour

A solitary star, with thankless eyes,

Ungrateful as I am! who bade thee rise

When sleep all night had wandered from my bower.

Can it be true that thou art he

Who shines now above the sea

Amid a thousand, but more bright?

Ah yes! the very same art thou

That heard me then and hearest now …

Thou seemest, star of love! to throb with light.