I search the night time sky and find you, peeping through the clouds that bind you, shades of midnight blue surround you.  I see tears upon the moon.  I search your battered orb and hear you, while mankind struggles to be near you, disrupting moon dust thick beneath you.  I see tears upon the moon.

I search your waxing and your waning, manned journeys to the crater gaining, only time will need explaining.  I see tears upon the moon.  I search your face for signs of pleasure, finding none and heed its measure, resisting giving up its treasure.  I see tears upon the moon.  ~  E. Macdonald ~

Another clock flings its heavy clang over the slumbering town, with so full and distinct a sound…. You count the strokes — one — two, and there they cease…. If you could choose an hour of wakefulness out of the whole night, it would be this. Since your sober bedtime, at eleven, you have had rest enough to take off the pressure of yesterday’s fatigue; while before you, till the sun comes… to brighten your window, there is almost the space of a summer night; one hour to be spent in thought, with the mind’s eye half shut, and two in pleasant dreams, and two in that strangest of enjoyments, the forgetfulness alike of joy and woe…. Yesterday has already vanished among the shadows of the past; tomorrow has not yet emerged from the future. You have found an intermediate space, where the business of life does not intrude; where the passing moment lingers, and becomes truly the present; a spot where Father Time, when he thinks nobody is watching him, sits down by the way side to take breath. Oh, that he would fall asleep, and let mortals live on without growing older! ~Nathaniel Hawthorne, “The Haunted Mind,” 1835

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