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 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. 
 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 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 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. 
 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! 
 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. 
 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? 
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.