How like a queen comes forth the lonely Moon
From the slow opening curtains of the clouds
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How like a queen comes forth the lonely Moon
From the slow opening curtains of the clouds
Walking in beauty to her midnight throne!

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.

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.

Into the sunset's turquoise marge
The moon dips, like a pearly barge;
Enchantment sails through magic seas,
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Into the sunset's turquoise marge
The moon dips, like a pearly barge;
Enchantment sails through magic seas,
To fairland Hesperides,
Over the hills and away.

Lend me thy pen
To write a word
In the moonlight.
Pierrot, my friend!
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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.]

'Tis midnight now. The bend and broken moon, batter'd and black, as from a thousand battles, hangs silent on the read more

'Tis midnight now. The bend and broken moon, batter'd and black, as from a thousand battles, hangs silent on the purple walls of Heaven.

Soon as the evening shades prevail,
The moon takes up the wondrous tale,
And nightly to the read more

Soon as the evening shades prevail,
The moon takes up the wondrous tale,
And nightly to the listening earth
Repeats the story of her birth.

Jove, thou regent of the skies.

Jove, thou regent of the skies.

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!