How Sweet the Moonlight Sleeps upon This Bank
How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank！
Here will we sit, and let the sounds of the music
Creep in our ears: soft stillness, and the night,
Become the touches of sweet harmony.
Sit, Jessica: look, how the floor of heaven
Is thick inlaid with patines of bright gold.
There’s not the smallest orb, which thou behold’st,
But in his motion like an angel sings,
Still quiring to the young-ey’d cherubims;
Such harmony is in immortal souls;
But, whilst this muddy vesture of decay
Doth grossly close it in, we cannot hear it.