“The moon, like a flower in heaven's high bower, with silent delight sits and smiles on the night.”

“Sweet is the breath of morn, her rising sweet,With charm of earliest birds; pleasant the sun,When first on this delightful land he spreadsHis orient beams, on herb, tree, fruit and flower,Glistening with dew; fragrant the fertile earthAfter soft showers, and sweet the coming onof grateful Evening mild; the silent Night,With this her solumn bird and hisfair Moon,And these the gems of Heaven, their starry train;But neither breath of morn nor rising sunOn this delightful land, nor herb, fruit, flowerGlistening with dew, nor fragrance after shower,Nor grateful Evening mild, nor silent Night,With this her solumn bird, nor walk by Moon,Or glittering starlight, without thee is sweet”

“There are nights when the wolves are silent and only the moon howls.”

“There was just one moon. That familiar, yellow, solitary moon. The same moon that silently floated over fields of pampas grass, the moon that rose--a gleaming, round saucer--over the calm surface of lakes, that tranquilly beamed down on the rooftops of fast-asleep houses. The same moon that brought the high tide to shore, that softly shone on the fur of animals and enveloped and protected travelers at night. The moon that, as a crescent, shaved slivers from the soul--or, as a new moon, silently bathed the earth in its own loneliness. THAT moon.”

“Four days will quickly steep themselves in nights; Four nights will quickly dream away the time; And then the moon, like to a silver bow new bent in heaven, shall behold the night of our solemnities.”

“It was like noticing the sun. You couldn't help but see it, to turn to face the heat of it, to bask in the glory of it. But often when the sun is high in the sky, the moon is up there, too. A dim memory of what she will be in the night, but there, nonetheless, dim and misty, hard and white. At night, there is only the moon, the sun is nowhere to be seen. There are no distractions when the moon rules the sky.”