William Lisle Bowles (1762–1850)

FAIR Moon! that at the chilly day’s decline

Of sharp December, through my cottage pane

Dost lovely look, smiling, though in thy wane;

In thought to scenes serene and still as thine

Wanders my heart, whilst I by turns survey

Thee slowly wheeling on thy evening way,

And this my fire, whose dim, unequal light,

Just glimmering, bids each shadowy image fall

Sombrous and strange upon the darkening wall,

Ere the clear tapers chase the deepening night!

Yet thy still orb, seen through the freezing haze,

Shines calm and clear without; and whilst I gaze,

I think, Around me in this twilight gloom

I but remark mortality’s sad doom;

Whilst hope and joy, cloudless and soft, appear

In the sweet beam that lights thy distant sphere.