To the Evening Star

Thomas Campbell (1777–1844)

STAR that bringest home the bee,

And sett’st the weary laborer free!

If any star shed peace, ’t is thou,

That send’st it from above,

Appearing when heaven’s breath and brow

Are sweet as hers we love.

Come to the luxuriant skies,

Whilst the landscape’s odors rise,

Whilst far-off lowing herds are heard,

And songs when toil is done,

From cottages where smoke unstirred

Curls yellow in the sun.

Star of love’s soft interviews,

Parted lovers on thee muse;

Their remembrancer in heaven

Of thrilling vows thou art,

Too delicious to be riven

By absence from the heart.