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TO THE MOON.
'Tis a lovely eve, and the Lady Moon
Is out in her lake of blue,
Where the stars are wandering through.
And she sheds her smile like a veil of dreams,
Athwart the earth and sky; With its mazy deeps and its golden gleams,
And its streaks of nameless dye.
Away she sails 'mong the amber isles
In her lovely lake of blue;
Are slowly heaving through.
And the foam-bells follow, pure and bright,
In her ethereal track,
While the stars are trembling back.
She follows on, by a glory led,
For she bears the souls of the happy dead,
WHAT POOR LITTLE FELLOWS ARE WE!
What poor little fellows are we!
Tho' we manage to make a great show:
And the king and the beggar must go.
Neither wisdom nor wealth can us save;
Are journeying on to the grave!
Then why should we listen to aught
Which pride or which vanity saith /
And bound for the narrows of death.
Know neither the high nor the low;
And the king and the beggar must "go.
An infinite dome,
O'er a world of wonder; An eye looking down
On the poor dreamer under.
An ocean of wrecks,
And beyond it our home; Each wave as it breaks
Leaves us whiter with foam.
A marriage to-day
And a funeral to-morrow; A short smile of joy
And a long sigh of sorrow.
A birth and a death,
All fleeting as breath—
Tell me, what does it mean? WHEREVER WE MAY WANDER.
Where'er we may wander,
What'er be our lot,
Still cling to the spot,
With rapture has prest,
In peace on her breast.
Where love first allured us,
And fondly we hung,
Which fell from her tongue,
'Twas foolish and vain,
Such glory again.