Part 3 — MOONRISE.
Reading edition
The moon is up, and yet it is not night— Sunset divides the sky with her—a sea Of glory streams along the Alpine height Of blue Friuli's mountains; Heaven is free From clouds, but of all colors seems to be— Melted to one vast Iris of the West, Where the Day joins the past Eternity; While, on the other hand, meek Dian's crest Floats through the azure air—an island of the blest. A single star is at her side, and reigns With her o'er half the lovely heaven; but still Yon sunny lea heaves brightly, and remains Roll'd o'er the peak of the far Rhætian hill, As Day and Night contending were, until Nature reclaim'd her order:—gently flows The deep-dyed Brenta, where their hues instill The odorous purple of a new-born rose, Which streams upon her stream, and glassed within it glows. Lord George Noel Gordon Byron. From "Childe Harold's Pilgrimage."