Moon

From The Rime of the Acient Mariner

The moving Moon went up the sky.
And nowhere did abide;
Softly she was going up,
And a star or two beside-

By Samuel Taylor Coleridge (1772-1834)

 TO THE MOON

Art thou pale for weariness
     Of climbing heaven and gazing on the earth,
Wandering companionless
      Among the stars that have a different birth,
And ever changing, like a Joyless eye
     That finds no object worth its constancy?
By Percy Bysshe Shelley (1792-1822)