'Twas noontide of summer,
      And mid-time of night;
    And stars, in their orbits,
      Shone pale, thro' the light
    Of the brighter, cold moon,
      'Mid planets her slaves,
    Herself in the Heavens,
      Her beam on the waves.
      I gaz'd a while
      On her cold smile;
    Too cold- too cold for me.
      There pass'd, as a shroud,
      A fleecy cloud,
    And I turn'd away to thee,
      Proud Evening Star,
      In thy glory afar,
    And dearer thy beam shall be;
      For joy to my heart
      Is the proud part
    Thou bearest in Heav'n at night,
      And more I admire
      Thy distant fire,
    Than that colder, lowly light.

~ Edgar Allan Poe

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