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.

Now Cynthia, named fair regent of the night.

Now Cynthia, named fair regent of the night.

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.

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.

How like a queen comes forth the lonely Moon
From the slow opening curtains of the clouds
read more

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 stars were glittering in the heaven's dusk meadows,
Far west, among those flowers of the shadows,
read more

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.

'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.

Into the sunset's turquoise marge
The moon dips, like a pearly barge;
Enchantment sails through magic seas,
read more

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.

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!