We looked into the silent sky,
We gazed upon thee, lovely Moon;
And thou wert shining clear and bright
In night's unclouded noon.

And it was sweet to stand and think,
Amidst the deep tranquillity,
How many eyes at that still hour
Were looking upon thee.

The exile on the foreign shore
Hath stood and turned his eye on thee;
And he hath thought upon his days
Of hope and infancy;

And he hath said, there may be those
Gazing upon thy beauty now,
Who stamped the last, the burning kiss
Upon his parting brow.

The captive in his grated cell
Hath cast him in thy peering light;
And looked on thee, and almost blest
The solitary night.

The infant slumbereth in his cot,
And on him is thy liquid beam;
And shapes of soft and faery light
Have mingled in his dream.

The sick upon the sleepless bed
Scared by the dream of wild unrest,
The fond and mute companionship
Of thy sweet ray hath blest.

The mourner in thy silver beam
Hath laid his sad and wasted form,
And felt that there is quiet there
To calm his inward storm.