The moon looks upon many night flowers; the night flowers see but one moon.

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.

The moon looks upon many night flowers; the night flowers see but one moon.

You Moon! Have you done something wrong in heaven, / That God has hidden your face?

The sun to me is dark / And silent as the moon, / When she deserts the night / Hid in her vacant, interlunar cave.

The night walked down the sky with the moon in her hand.