Lord Byron on Moon
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“The silver light, which, hallowing tree and tower, Sheds beauty and deep softness o'er the whole, Breathes also to the heart, and o'er it throws A loving languor which is not repose.”
“The devil's in the moon for mischief; they Who call'd her chaste, methinks, began too soon Their nomenclature; there is not a day, The longest, not the twenty-first of June, Sees half the business in a wicked way, On which three single hours of moonshine smile— And then she looks so modest all the while!”