Ah! When will this long weary day have end,
and lend me leave to come unto my love? 
How slowly do the hours their numbers spend?
How slowly does sad Time his feathers move?
Haste thee O fairest Planet to thy home
Within the Western foam:
Thy tired steeds long since have need of rest.
Long tho‘ it be, at last I see it gloom,
And the bright evening star with golden crest
Appear out of the East.
Fair child of beauty, glorious lamp of love
That all the host of Heaven in ranks dost lead,  
And guidest lovers thro‘ the night's sad dread,
How cheerfully thou lookest from above,
And seem‘st to laugh atween thy twinkling light
As joying in the sight
Of these glad many which for joy do sing,
That all the woods them answer and their echo ring.