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

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

-- Anonymous

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In the flood of her joy, the Moon filled the room like a phosphoric atmosphere, like a luminous poison.

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The moon witnesses the scenes of true love, but discloses them not.

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No triumph without a trial.

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