How beautiful is night! A dewy freshness fills the silent air; No mist obscures; nor cloud, nor speck, nor stain, Breaks the serene of heaven: In full-orbed glory, yonder moon divine Rolls through the dark blue depths.... Robert Southey
The moon, the moon, so silver and cold, Her
fickle temper has oft been told, Now shade--now bright and sunny-- But of all
the lunar things that change, The one that shows most fickle and strange, And
takes the most eccentric range, Is the moon--so called--of honey!