Sister Of The First-Born Light, Type Of Sorrowing Gentleness! Quivering Mists In Silv'Ry Dress Float Around Thy Features Bright; When Thy Gentle Foot Is Heard, From The Day-Closed Caverns Then Wake The Mournful Ghosts Of Men, I, Too, Wake, And Each Night-Bird. O'Er A Field Of Boundless Span Looks Thy Gaze Both Far And Wide. Raise Me Upwards To Thy Side! Grant This To A Raving Man! And To Heights Of Rapture Raised, Let The Knight So Crafty Peep At His Maiden While Asleep, Through Her Lattice-Window Glazed. Soon The Bliss Of This Sweet View, Pangs By Distance Caused Allays; And I Gather All Thy Rays, And My Look I Sharpen Too. Round Her Unveil'D Limbs I See Brighter Still Become The Glow, And She Draws Me Down Below, As Endymion Once Drew Thee.