I Walk Unseen
On The Dry Smooth-shaven Green,
To Behold The Wandering Moon
Riding Near Her Highest Noon,
Like One That Had Been Led Astray
Through The Heav'n's Wide Pathless Way
I walk unseen
On the dry smooth-shaven green,
To behold the wandering moon
Riding near her highest noon,
Like one that had been led astray
Through the heav'n's wide pathless way;
And oft, as if her head she bow'd,
Stooping through a fleecy cloud.
-- John Milton (1608-1674)
-- Il Penseroso, Line 65
By this time, like one who had set out on his way by nigh and travelled
through a region of smooth or idle dreams, our history now arrives
on the confines, where daylight and truth meet us with a clear dawn,
representing to our view, though at a far distance, true colours and
shapes....