“Beeches stood aghast in pools of shed leaves. Silver poplars looked like moonbeams.”

“Her ivory hands on the ivory keysStrayed in a fitful fantasy,Like the silver gleam when the poplar treesRustle their pale leaves listlessly,Or the drifting foam of a restless seaWhen the waves show their teeth in the flying breeze.”

“I walk the moonbeam roads a silver web connecting the many worlds of the Multiverse.”

“The fairy poet takes a sheetOf moonbeam, silver white;His ink is dew from daisies sweet,His pen a point of light.”

“Deep in the meadow, hidden far away A cloak of leaves, a moonbeam ray Forget your woes and let your troubles lay”

“She looked at a silver birch: it would have a soft, showery voice and would look like a slender girl, with hair blown all about her face and fond of dancing. She looked at the oak: he would be a wizened, but hearty, old man with a frizzled beard and warts on his fact and hands, with hair growing out of the warts. She looked at the beech under which she was standing. Ah! --she would be the best of all. She would be a gracious goddess, smooth and stately, the Lady of the Wood.”