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.

Mother of light! how fairly dost thou go
Over those hoary crests, divinely led!
Art thou that read more

Mother of light! how fairly dost thou go
Over those hoary crests, divinely led!
Art thou that huntress of the silver bow
Fabled of old? Or rather dost thou tread
Those cloudy summits thence to gaze below,
Like the wild chamois from her Alpine snow,
Where hunters never climbed--secure from dread?

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.]

The moon pull'd off her veil of light,
That hides her face by day from sight
(Mysterious read more

The moon pull'd off her veil of light,
That hides her face by day from sight
(Mysterious veil, of brightness made,)
That's both her lustre and her shade),
And in the lantern of the night,
With shining horns hung out her light.

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.

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.

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.

Don't tell me the sky's the limit when there are foosteps on the moon.

Don't tell me the sky's the limit when there are foosteps on the 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.