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'Twas noontide of summer,
   And mid-time of night;
And stars, in their orbits,
   Shone pale, thro' the light
Of the brighter, cold moon,
   'Mid planets her slaves,
Herself in the Heavens,
   Her beam on the waves.
     I gazed awhile
     On her cold smile;
Too cold—too cold for me—
   There pass'd, as a shroud,
   A fleecy cloud,
And I turned away to thee,
   Proud Evening Star,
   In thy glory afar,
And dearer thy beam shall be;
   For joy to my heart
   Is the proud part
Thou bearest in Heaven at night,
   And more I admire
   Thy distant fire,
Than that colder, lowly light.



Written by Edgar Allan Poe