To a Lady, LXIV

Oh do not smile! it is not vain, Though envy sneer, and doubt complain; They do not dream, who say they hear The music of each little sphere, On some clear evening, when aloft The stars are out, and shining soft. Oh Earth, it is a lonely thing Through empty regions wandering, Yet charm’d forever, by a sound From all the deep blue Heaven around; The Heaven above, the Heaven below, The Heaven wherever she may go, The starry vault through which she flies, The deep, unfathom’d, pathless skies.