| With How Sad Steps, Oh Moon |
|---|
| With how sad steps, Oh Moon, thou climb'st the skies, |
| How silently, and with how wan a face! |
| What, may it be that even in heav'nly place |
| That busy archer his sharp arrows tries? |
| Sure, if that long-with-love-acquainted eyes |
| Can judge of love, thou feel'st a lover's case; |
| I read it in thy looks: thy languished grace, |
| To me that feel the like, thy state descries. |
| Then even of fellowship, Oh Moon, tell me, |
| Is constant love deemed there but want of wit? |
| Are beauties there as proud as here they be? |
| Do they above love to be loved, and yet |
| Those lovers scorn whom that love doth possess? |
| Do they call virtue there ungratefulness? |