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...