The moving moon went up to the sky,
And nowhere did abide;
Softly she was going up,
read more

The moving moon went up to the sky,
And nowhere did abide;
Softly she was going up,
And a star or two beside.

The moon looks upon many night flowers; the night flowers see but one moon.

The moon looks upon many night flowers; the night flowers see but one moon.

He made an instrument to know
If the moon shine at full or no;
That would, as read more

He made an instrument to know
If the moon shine at full or no;
That would, as soon as e'er she shone straight,
Whether 'twere day or night demonstrate;
Tell what her d'ameter to an inch is,
And prove that she's not made of green cheese.

The stars were glittering in the heaven's dusk meadows,
Far west, among those flowers of the shadows,
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The stars were glittering in the heaven's dusk meadows,
Far west, among those flowers of the shadows,
The thin, clear crescent lustrous over her,
Made Ruth raise question, looking through the bars
Of heaven, with eyes half-oped, what God, what comer
Unto the harvest of the eternal summer,
Had flung his golden hook down on the field of stars.

Such a slender moon, going up and up,
Waxing so fast from night to night,
And swelling read more

Such a slender moon, going up and up,
Waxing so fast from night to night,
And swelling like an orange flower-bud, bright,
Fated, methought, to round as to a golden cup,
And hold to my two lips life's best of wine.

As the moon's fair image quaketh
In the raging waves of ocean,
Whilst she, in the vault read more

As the moon's fair image quaketh
In the raging waves of ocean,
Whilst she, in the vault of heaven,
Moves with silent peaceful motion.

The sun had sunk and the summer skies
Were dotted with specks of light
That melted soon read more

The sun had sunk and the summer skies
Were dotted with specks of light
That melted soon in the deep moon-rise
That flowed over Groton Height.

Jove, thou regent of the skies.

Jove, thou regent of the skies.

When the hollow drum has beat to bed
And the little fifer hangs his head,
When all read more

When the hollow drum has beat to bed
And the little fifer hangs his head,
When all is mute the Moorish flute,
And nodding guards watch wearily,
On, then let me,
From prison free,
March out by moonlight cheerily.