The moon, of course, is the subject of thousands of poems. I was thinking about this looking at a sharp moon in a very clear sky in Maine last night. Here is a poem by Carl Sandburg (1878-1967), a somewhat out-of-fashion but marvelous poet. He won three Pulitizers, two for his poetry and one for his biography of Lincoln.
Shine on, o moon of summer.
Shine to the leaves of grass, catalpa and oak,
All silver under your rain to-night.
An Italian boy is sending songs to you to-night from an accordion.
A Polish boy is out with his best girl; they marry next month;
to-night they are throwing you kisses.
An old man next door is dreaming over a sheen that sits in a
cherry tree in his back yard.
The clocks say I must go–I stay here sitting on the back porch drinking
white thoughts you rain down.
Shine on, o moon,
Shake out more and more silver changes.