To The Evening Star
Star that bringest home the bee,
by Thomas Campbell
And sett’st the weary labourer free!
If any star shed peace, ‘tis thou,
That send ‘st it from above,
Appearing when Heaven’s breath and brow
Are sweet as hers we love.
Come to the luxuriant skies,
Whilst the landscape’s odours rise,
Whilst far-off lowing herds are heard,
And songs when toil is done,
From cottages whose smoke unstirr’d
Curls yellow in the sun.
Star of love’s soft interviews.
Parted lovers on thee muse;
Their remembrancer in heaven
Of thrilling vows thou art,
Too delicious to be riven
By absence from the heart.