Fugitive Poetry. 1600–1878/The Evening Star
The Evening Star.
Star of the Evening! How I love to mark
Thy beam thus gleaming tremulously bright,
Upon the ocean wave! How brightly dark
Shines thy lone ray, thou herald of the night!
Thy beam thus gleaming tremulously bright,
Upon the ocean wave! How brightly dark
Shines thy lone ray, thou herald of the night!
Thou lovely star! I've sometimes gazed at thee
Till I have almost wept, I knew not why;
Tell me, my heart, what can that feeling be
Which makes thee at those moments throb so high?
Till I have almost wept, I knew not why;
Tell me, my heart, what can that feeling be
Which makes thee at those moments throb so high?
It is a joy where sadness hath a part,
A melancholy, worth whole days of mirth,
The eye in tears, indeed, but with a heart
Which bounds as if 'twould break the bonds of earth.
A melancholy, worth whole days of mirth,
The eye in tears, indeed, but with a heart
Which bounds as if 'twould break the bonds of earth.
Thou lovely star! methinks thy herald-ray
Speaketh of rest beyond our hour of time;
And seemeth to invite the soul away
To seek for refuge in a happier clime.
Speaketh of rest beyond our hour of time;
And seemeth to invite the soul away
To seek for refuge in a happier clime.