The Moon.
To man's unaided eye, the moon can show Not half the wonders which the sage's glass Reveals. Like frosted silver gleams her rounded mass, Along whose clefts no cooling waters flow. No cloud is seen, the sun's unshrouded glow Brings heat, which aught we feel must far surpass. No forests spread nor meadows wave with grass, No air as a refreshing breeze may blow. Volcanic craters crowd her surface pale, Their fierce eruptions, in the ages fled, Left circling walls, lofty, abrupt, and steep; No longer now their energies prevail: Her surface now lies white and still. She, dead, Reposes calmly in eternal sleep. —Prof. Jefferson.
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https://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/newspapers/ESD18870614.2.39
Bibliographic details
Evening Star, Issue 7238, 14 June 1887, Page 4
Word Count
108The Moon. Evening Star, Issue 7238, 14 June 1887, Page 4
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