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.

'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.

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 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!

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.

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.

Now Cynthia, named fair regent of the night.

Now Cynthia, named fair regent of the night.

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.

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