To the Evening-Star

When we have once said lowly "Evening-Star!"
Words give no more—for, in thy silver pride,
Thou shinest as naught else can shine beside:
The thick smoke, coiling round the sooty bar
Forever, and the customed lamp-light mar
The stillness of my thought—seeing things glide
So samely:—then I ope my windows wide,
And gaze in peace to where thou shin'st afar.
The wind that comes across the faint-white snow
So freshly, and the river dimly seen,
Seem like new things that never had been so
Before; and thou art bright as thou hast been
Since thy white rays put sweetness in the eyes
Of the first souls that loved in Paradise.

XXVII.