Sonnet: To the Rising Moon
To show thy full, fair face? Behind yon screen
Of trees, which Nature has enrobed with green
Thou stand'st, as one whose hidden sins are named;
Peeping the leafy crevices between,
Like Memory looking through the chinks of years
For some fair island-spot unsoiled by tears. —
Now thou'rt ascending, melancholy queen!
But the red rose has sickened on thy cheek.
And there thou wander'st sorrowful, and weak.
And heedless where thou'rt straying, sad, and pale.
Like grief-struck maiden, who has heard revealed
To all the world that which she wished concealed —
Her trusting Love's, and hapless Frailty's tale.