The Moon looked in at the window,
And smiled as I wrote to you,
She lay like a frail white maiden,
In shadowy folds of blue.

Her bosom was bare and tender,
And slight, for she still was young,
And down from her dainty shoulders
A mantle of starlight hung.

She wooed with a wanton ardour
The winds till they lulled to sighs,
And night was transformed with beauty,
For love of her limpid eyes.

The soul of the cloudy darkness
Awakened beneath her beams,
The sky swooned away with longing,
The Earth stirred in tender dreams.

Alas! for the moon was cruel,
Far colder than snow was she,
Her heart was a burnt-out Planet,
Her light but a fallacy:

And she looked at my open letter,
And called from her couch on high,
'Pray give my love to my Sister
Who is even more cold than I.'