And I have added musings of poets contemplating the moon:
From 'The Red Fisherman' by Winthrop Mackworth Praed
'The Abbot rose, and closed his book,
and donned his sandal shoon,
and wandered forth, alone, to look
Upon the summer moon.'
From 'Night' by William Blake
'The moon, like a flower,
In heaven's high bower,
With silent delight
Sits and smiles on the night.'
From 'Silver' by Walter de la Mare
'Slowly, silently, now the moon`
Walks the night in her silver shoon;
This way, and that, she peers, and sees
Silver fruit upon silver trees;'
From 'Is the Moon Tired?' by Christina Rossetti
'Is the moon tired? She seems so pale
Within her misty veil;
She scales the sky from east to west,
And takes no rest.'
From 'The Moon' by Robert Louis Stevenson
'The moon has a face like the clock in the hall;
She shines on thieves on the garden wall,
On streets and fields and harbour quays,
And birdies asleep in the forks of the trees.'