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!

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?

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.

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.