TO THE NEW MOON.
Reading edition
Fair gem on the dark brow of night, Fancy springs up, exulting, to greet thee; But purer than thine is the light Of the eye smiling gladly to meet me.
It is glowing—thy crescent, late pale, Is glowing, like spray on the ocean: But lovelier far, through its veil, Steals the light of Love's secret emotion.
New-York, August, 1837.
James F. Otis.