�Twas noontide of summer,
And mid-time of night;
And stars, in their orbits,
Shone pale, thro� the light
Of the brighter, cold moon,
�Mid planets her slaves,
Herself in the Heavens,
Her beam on the waves.
I gazed awhile
On her cold smile;
Too cold � too cold for me �
There pass�d, as a shroud,
A fleecy cloud,
And I turned away to thee,
Proud Evening Star,
In thy glory afar,
And dearer thy beam shall be;
For joy to my heart
Is the proud part
Thou bearest in Heaven at night,
And more I admire
Thy distant fire,
Than that colder, lowly light.

--Edgar Allan Poe

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