A tribute to the moon

The moon is a white strange world, great, white, soft-seeming globe in the night sky, and what she actually communicates to me across space I shall never fully know. But the moon that pulls the tides, and the moon that controls the menstrual periods of women, and the moon that touches the lunatics, she is not the mere dead lump of the astronomist.... When we describe the moon as dead, we are describing the deadness in ourselves. When we find space so hideously void, we are describing our own unbearable emptiness.

(D.H. (David Herbert) Lawrence (1885-1930)

And hand in hand, on the edge of the sand,
They danced by the light of the moon,

(Edward Lear (1812-1888), British poet. The Owl and the Pussy-cat (l. 29-30)

The Moon for all her light and grace
Has never learned to know her place.

(Robert Frost (1874-1963), U.S. poet. "Two Leading Lights.") 

The moon, like to a silver bow
New bent in heaven, shall behold the night
Of our solemnities.

(William Shakespeare (1564-1616), British dramatist, poet. Hippolyta, in A Midsummer Night's Dream, act 1, sc. 1, l. 9-11. To Theseus, whom she is to marry.)