Small circles glittering idly in the moon,/ Until they melted all into one track/ Of sparkling light.

The Sea that bares her bosom to the moon;The winds that will be howling at all hours,And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers;For this, for everything, we are out of tune.

He who would see old Hoghton right Must view it by the pale moonlight.

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 is a silver pin-head vast, That holds the heaven's tent-hangings fast.

Reach for the moon, because if you don't make it you'll land among the stars.