Moon, worn thin to the width of a quill,/ In the dawn clouds flying,/ How good to go, light into light, and still/ Giving light, dying. — Sara Teasdale Copy Share Image
“We sat grown quiet at the name of love; We saw the last embers of daylight die, And in the trembling blue-green of the sky A moon, worn as if it had been a shell Washed by time's waters as… — W.B. Yeats Copy Share Image
