Who but is pleased to watch the moon on high

— by William Wordsworth

Who but is pleased to watch the moon on high Traveling where she from time to time enshrouds Her head, and nothing loth her Majesty Renounces, till among the scattered clouds One with its kindling edge declares that soon Will reappear before the uplifted eye A Form as bright, as beautiful a moon, To glide in open prospect through clear sky. Pity that such a promise e’er should prove False in the issue, that yon seeming space Of sky should be in truth the steadfast face Of a cloud flat and dense, through which must move (By transit not unlike man’s frequent doom) The Wanderer lost in more determined gloom.