Praised be the moon of books! that doth above 
A world of men, the fallen Past behold, 
And fill the spaces else so void and cold 
To make a very heaven again thereof; 
As when the sun is set behind a grove, 
And faintly unto nether ether rolled, 
All night his whiter image and his mould 
Grows beautiful with looking on her love.

Thou therefore, moon of so divine a ray, 
Lend to our steps both fortitude and light! 
Feebly along a venerable way 
They climb the infinite, or perish quite; 
Nothing are days and deeds to such as they, 
While in this liberal house thy face is bright.