Moonlight in Italy

There ’s not a breath the dewy leaves to stir; There ’s not a cloud to spot the sapphire sky; All Nature seems a silent worshipper: While saintly Dian, with great, argent eye, Looks down as lucid from the depths on high As she to Earth were Heaven’s interpreter; Each twinkling little star shrinks back, too shy Its lesser glory to obtrude by her Who fills the concave and the world with light; And ah! the human spirit must unite In such a harmony of silent lays, Or be the only discord in this night, Which seems to pause for vocal lips to raise The sense of worship into uttered praise.