Muses, who know and rule all minstrelsy,
Sing the wide-winged Moon ! Around the earth,
From her immortal head in Heaven shot forth,
Far light is scattered - boundless glory springs;
Where'eer she spreads her many-beaming wings
The lampless air glows round her golden crown,
But when the Moon divine
from Heaven is gone
Under the sea, her beams within
abide,
Till, bathing her bright limbs
in Ocean's tide,
Clothing her form in garments glittering
far,
And having yoked to her immortal
car
The beam-invested steeds whose
necks on high
Curve back, she drives to a remoter
sky
A western Crescent, borne impetuously.
Then is made full the circle of
her light,
And as she grows, her beams more
bright and bright
Are poured from Heaven, where she
is hovering then,
A wonder and a sign to mortal men.
The Son of Saturn with this
glorious Power
Mingled in love and sleep to whom
she bore
Pandeia, a bright maid of beauty
rare
Among the Gods, whose lives eternal
are.
Hail Queen, great Moon, white-armed
Divinity.
Fair-haired and favourable I thus
with thee
My song beginning, by its music
sweet,
Shall make immortal many a glorious
feat
Of demigods, with lovely lips,
so well
Which minstrels, servants of the
Muses, tell
Homer's Hymn to the Moon, as translated by the Shelleys
