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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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 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.
Jove, thou regent of the skies.
Jove, thou regent of the skies.
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.
Now Cynthia, named fair regent of the night.
Now Cynthia, named fair regent of the night.
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.]
As the moon's fair image quaketh
In the raging waves of ocean,
Whilst she, in the vault read more
As the moon's fair image quaketh
In the raging waves of ocean,
Whilst she, in the vault of heaven,
Moves with silent peaceful motion.
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!
On the road, the lonely road,
Under the cold, white moon;
Under the rugged trees he strode,
read more
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.
