The Moon was but a Chin of Gold

Her Forehead is of Amplest Blonde —

Her Cheek — a Beryl hewn —

Her Eye unto the Summer Dew

The likest I have known —

Her Lips of Amber never part —

But what must be the smile

Upon Her Friend she could confer

Were such Her Silver Will —

And what a privilege to be

But the remotest Star —

For Certainty She take Her Way

Beside Your Palace Door —

Her Bonnet is the Firmament —

The Universe — Her Shoe —

The Stars — the Trinkets at Her Belt —

Her Dimities — of Blue —