Diana Poem by Maria Frances Cecilia Cowper

O Moon, that sailest in the heavens above,
Inscrutable, pale, beautiful, alone.
Art weary of thy solitary throne ?
Dost long sometimes for sympathy or love ?

Imperious mistress of the realms of sleep.
Colder and purer than new-fallen snow,
What would'st thou say to mortals here below.

To men that love and hate, that laugh and weep ?

' Ah, happy careless men, ye cannot tell
With what an aching heart I swim in space.
While the great sorrow written on my face
Speaks of the solitudes with which I dwell.

' Men look upon my face and call me cold,
And know not that, behind the mask, a fire
Consumes me of unsatisfied desire,
And longing for the world which I behold ;

' The life I may not share, but still must see,
The petty, struggling life of man on earth.
Who is the sport of Fortune from his birth.
And yet hath love, which is denied to me.

' Aye, and though sin and sorrow can destroy
The bliss of life, and even love can die,
I would renounce my immortality
For one brief hour of human love and joy.

' The niggard gods, that had so much to give,
Made me a queen, but crowned me with despair ;
I have not love— then wherefore am I fair?
I am alone — what profits it to live ?

' So, while I sail the solitary ways
Bathed in the light of my own loveliness,
The sorrow of eternal loneliness
Shines in the cold, pale beauty of my gaze.'