it's a fine moon', she repeated
In presence of the Moon nobody sees stars.
You weremoon's eye to mepull and grained and mantling' - Praise Song For My Mother by Charlotte Mew
In winter, on the darkest nights, one rejoices even to see the tiniest sliver of a moon.
The lovelorn came, too. The alone. The lunatics-they were brought here, sometimes. Got their name from the moon, it was only fair the moon had a chance to fix things.
When you touch the moon with beloved eyes, you behold a glimpse of an amazing life.