Slowly, silently, now the moon _x000D_ Walks the night in her silver shoon.
Interpretation
The quote evokes the serene and majestic presence of the moon as it quietly lights up the night.
This quote beautifully captures the tranquil and ethereal quality of the moon's presence in the night sky. By describing the moon as walking 'silently' and wearing 'silver shoon,' the imagery suggests a graceful and almost personified celestial being that adds a gentle illumination to the darkness, inviting contemplation and appreciation of nature's beauty.
In practice
In a poetry reading to set a calm and reflective mood.
He got out of bed and peeped through the blinds. To the east and opposite to him gardens and an apple-orchard lay, and there in strange liquid tranquility hung the morning star, and rose, rilling into the dusk of night the first grey of dawn. The street beneath its autumn leaves was vacant, charmed, deserted.
Tell them I came, and no one answered, That I kept my word," he said. Never the least stir made the listeners, Though every word he spake Fell echoing through the shadowiness of the still house From the one man left awake: Ay, they heard his foot upon the stirrup, And the sound of iron on stone, And how the silence surged softly backward, When the plunging hoofs were gone.
Very old are the woods; And the buds that break Out of the brier's boughs, When March winds wake, So old with their beauty are-- Oh, no man knows Through what wild centuries Roves back the rose.
Labor is the only prayer that Nature answers: It is the only prayer that deserves an answer—good, honest, noble work.
When April winds_x000D_ Grew soft, the maple burst into a flush_x000D_ Of scarlet flowers. The tulip tree, high up,_x000D_ Opened in airs of June her multitude_x000D_ Of golden chalices to humming-birds_x000D_ And silken-wing'd insects of the sky.
I go to the wild mountains where I am responsible for myself. Step by step I am making sure that I don't die.
There is a Precious Mountain _x000D_ Even the Seven Treasures cannot compare _x000D_ A cold moon rises through the pines _x000D_ Layer upon layer of bright clouds _x000D_ How many towering peaks? _x000D_ How many wandering miles? _x000D_ The valley streams run clear _x000D_ Happiness forever!
The sequoias belong to the silences of the milleniums. Many of them have seen a hundred human generations rise, give off their little clamors and perish. They seem indeed to be forms of immortality standing here amoing the transitory shapes of time.
And there are my cats, engaged in a ritual that goes back thousands of years, tranquilly licking themselves after the meal. Practical animals, they prefer to have others provide the food ... some of them do. There must have been a split between the cats who accepted domestication and those who did not.
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