Endymion Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

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 dropt 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, unasked, 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.