Classic Poem

The moon is up, and o'er yon trembling tide,
About to woo the sea-god in his caves,
She pours the brilliant splendors of a bride
As to the nuptials trip the glittering waves:
Upon the shore their murmuring music laves;
Upon each head gems forth a silver light,
The gloomy island one kiss from her craves
As spread her glories 'fore the dazzled sight —
Hail! beauteous Dian, hail! thou peerless Queen of Night!