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 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. 
Jove, thou regent of the skies.
Jove, thou regent of the skies.
 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 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.
Reach for the moon, because if you don't make it you'll land among the stars.
Reach for the moon, because if you don't make it you'll land among the stars.
 When the hollow drum has beat to bed
 And the little fifer hangs his head,
  When all read more 
 When the hollow drum has beat to bed
 And the little fifer hangs his head,
  When all is mute the Moorish flute,
   And nodding guards watch wearily,
    On, then let me,
     From prison free,
      March out by moonlight cheerily. 
 On the road, the lonely road,
 Under the cold, white moon;
  Under the rugged trees he strode,
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 On the road, the lonely road,
 Under the cold, white moon;
  Under the rugged trees he strode,
   Whistled and shifted his heavy load--
    Whistled a foolish tune. 
 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 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!