The moon's a drowsy fool to-night,
Wrapped in fleecy clouds and white;
And all the while Endymion
Sleeps on Latmos top alone.
Not a single star is seen:
They are gathered round their queen,
Keeping vigil by her bed,
Patient and unwearied.
Now the poet drops his pen
And moves about like other men:
Tom o’ Bedlam now is still
And sleeps beneath the hawthorn'd hill.
Only the Latmian shepherd deems
Something missing from his dreams
And tosses as he sleeps alone.
Alas, alas, Endymion!