What would I choose to see when I To this bright earth shall bid good-bye? When fades forever from my sight The world I've loved with long delight? What would I pray to look on last, When Death shall draw the Curtain fast?
I've loved the farewell of the Sun, Low-lapsing after work well done; Or leaping from a sea forlorn, Gold-glad to greet a day new born. . . . Shall I elect to round my dream The Sun I hail as Lord Supreme?
Ah no! Of Heaven's shining host, It is the Moon I love the most; And if, when I shall cease to be, God lets me keep one memory Of loveliness that held me thrall, The Moon's the one I would recall.
. . . The new Moon fine as pearly clip From Cleopatra's finger-tip; . . . The ripe Moon vaulting o'er the trees As ruddy as a Cheddar cheese; . . . The late Moon, frail and wanly fair, Relaxed on silver rocking chair. . . .
But most of all, the Moon intense With radiant indifference; So placid, glacid, pure, serene, Of all perfection proudly Queen. . . . Oh Mistress Mine, let me adore Your beauty but one moment more! One last look . . . Let the Curtain fall, Then let me look no more at all.