Thou didst delight my eyes:

Yet who am I? nor first

Nor last nor best, that durst

Once dream of thee for prize;

Nor this the only time

Thou shalt set love to rhyme.

Ah! little praise; thy voice

Makes other hearts rejoice,

Makes all ears glad that hear;

And short my joy: but yet,

O song, do not forget.

How shall I say? The moon,

That poured her midnight noon

Upon his wrecking sea;—

A sail, that for a day

Has cheered the castaway.