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.
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'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.
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.
And hail their queen, fair regent of the night.
And hail their queen, fair regent of the night.
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 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.
Doth the moon care for the barking of a dog?
Doth the moon care for the barking of a dog?
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!
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.
The devil's in the moon for mischief; they
Who call'd her chaste, methinks, began too soon
Their read more
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!
