The devil's in the moon for mischief; they
Who call'd her chaste, methinks, began too soon
Their nomenclature; there is not a day,
The longest, not the twenty-first of June,
Sees half the business in a wicked way,
On which three single hours of moonshine smile--
And then she looks so modest all the while!
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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.
The moon is at her full, and riding high,
Floods the calm fields with light.
The airs read more
The moon is at her full, and riding high,
Floods the calm fields with light.
The airs that hover in the summer sky
Are all asleep to-night.
The moon is a silver pin-head vast,
That holds the heaven's tent-hangings fast.
The moon is a silver pin-head vast,
That holds the heaven's tent-hangings fast.
Lend me thy pen
To write a word
In the moonlight.
Pierrot, my friend!
read more
Lend me thy pen
To write a word
In the moonlight.
Pierrot, my friend!
My candle's out,
I've no more fire;--
For love of God
Open thy door!
[Fr., Au clair de la lune
Mon ami Pierrot,
Prete moi ta plume
Pour ecrire un mot;
Ma chandelle est morte,
Je n'ai plus de feu,
Ouvre moi ta porte,
Pour l'amour de Dieu.]
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 who would see old Hoghton right
Must view it by the pale moonlight.
He who would see old Hoghton right
Must view it by the pale moonlight.
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 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, the moon, so silver and cold,
Her fickle temper has oft been told,
Now shade--now read more
The moon, the moon, so silver and cold,
Her fickle temper has oft been told,
Now shade--now bright and sunny--
But of all the lunar things that change,
The one that shows most fickle and strange,
And takes the most eccentric range,
Is the moon--so called--of honey!
