But let me see thee stoop from heaven on wings That fill the sky with silver glitterings!
What is there in thee, Moon! That thou should'st move My heart so potently?
To silence gossip, don't repeat it.
Music's golden tongue Flatter'd to tears this aged man and poor.
I want a brighter word than bright
In a drear-nighted December, Too happy, happy tree, Thy branches ne'er remember Their green felicity.