"The rising moon has hid the stars"
di Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807-1882)

The rising moon has hid the stars, Her level rays like golden bars Lie on the landscape green With shadows brown between, And silver-white the river gleams, As if Diana, in her dreams, Had dropp'd her silver bow Upon the meadows low. On such a tranquil night as this, She woke Endymion with a kiss When sleeping in the grove, He dreamed not of her love. Like Dian's kiss unask'd unsought, Love gives itself, but is not bought, Nor voice nor sound betrays Its deep impassioned gaze.
It comes, the beautiful, the free; The crown, of all humanity, In silence, and alone, To seek the elected one, It lifts the boughs whose shadows deep Are life's oblivion, the soul's sleep. And kisses the closed eyes Of him who slumbering lies. Oh, weary hearts, oh, slumbering eyes, Oh, drooping souls whose destinies Are fraught with fear and pain, Ye shall be loved again! No one is so accursed by fate, No one so utterly desolate But some heart, though unknown, Responds unto his own, responds As though with unseen wings An angel touched the quiv'ring strings And whispers in its song Where hast thou stayed so long?