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?

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.

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.

There are nights when the wolves are silent and only the moon howls.

There are nights when the wolves are silent and only the moon howls.

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.

Doth the moon care for the barking of a dog?

Doth the moon care for the barking of a dog?

Lend me thy pen
To write a word
In the moonlight.
Pierrot, my friend!
read more

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.

The moon is at her full, and riding high,
Floods the calm fields with light.
The airs read more

The moon is at her full, and riding high,
Floods the calm fields with light.
The airs that hover in the summer sky
Are all asleep to-night.