With how sad steps, O moon, thou climb'st the skies! br How silently, and with how wan a face! br What! may it be that even in heavenly place br That busy archer his sharp arrows tries? br Sure, if that long-with-love-acquainted eyes br Can judge of love, thou feel'st a lover's case: br I read it in thy looks; thy languished grace br To me, that feel the like, thy state descries.