Thomas Bailey Aldrich Quotes

The moon rose, an opalescent goddess tipping light from her harsh maternal scimitar.

There's the moon asking to stay long enough for the clouds to fly me away

Blot out the moon, Pull down the stars. Love in the dark, for we're for the dark So soon, so soon.

The moon is no door. It is a face in its own right, White as a knuckle and terribly upset. It drags the sea after it like a dark crime; it is quiet With the O-gape of complete despair. I live here.

What do you do there, moon, in the sky? Tell me what you do, silent moon. When evening comes you rise and go contemplating wastelands; then you set.

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

Anybody knows, you can conjure anything by the dark of the moon

The summer moon hung full in the sky. For the time being it was the great fact of the world.

The innocent moon, that nothing does but shine,Moves all the labouring surges of the world.

Never moon a werewolf.

Perhaps the crescent moon smiles in doubt at being told that it is a fragment awaiting perfection.

The earth covered with a sable pall as for the burial of yesterday; the clumps of dark trees, its giant plumes of funeral feathers, waving sadly to and fro: all hushed, all noiseless, and in deep repose, save the swift clouds that skim across the moon, and the cautious wind, as, creeping after them upon the ground, it stops to listen, and goes rustling on, and stops again, and follows, like a savage on the trail.

The new moon rode high in the crown of the metropolis. Shinin', like "Who on top of this?

The full moon - the mandala of the sky.

Not secondary to the sun, she gives us his blaze again, Void of its flame, and sheds a softer day... In Heaven queen she is among the spheres; She, mistress-like, makes all things to be pure.

That moon which the sky never saw even in dreams has risen again

Who knows if the moon's / a balloon, coming out of a keen city / in the sky - filled with pretty people?

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.

Men die nightly in their beds, wringing the hands of ghostly confessors ... on account of the hideousness of mysteries which will not suffer themselves to be revealed.

I am a cemetery abhorred by the moon, In which long worms crawl like remorse.

We ran as if to meet the moon.

Fairy elves, Whose midnight revels by a forest side Or fountain some belated peasant sees, Or dreams he sees, while overhead the moon Sits arbitress.

The moon is dark, and the gods dance in the night; there is terror in the sky, for upon the moon hath sunk an eclipse foretold in no books of men or of earth's gods.

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.