The moon is up at half-past five, 
  She frightens me among the pines ; 
The moon, and only half-past five ! 
With half the ruddy day alive -- 
  So soon, so high, so cold, she shines, 
  This daylight moon among the pines. 

The moon is walking in the wood, 
  Her face is very white and strange ; 
The moon is coming through the wood. 
Her face half-hidden in her hood. 
  Cold silver face whose hourly change 
  Blanches her cheek more white, more strange. 

The moon beneath a pine-tree stands, 
  Her weary face is full of dreams ; 
The moon by yonder pine-tree stands, 
She builds a palace with her hands, 
  Pillars of silver, shafts and beams, --
  She builds a palace for her dreams. 

The moon is sleeping in the trees. 
  So early is she tired of heaven, 
The moon is dreaming in the trees, 
Her shepherd boy she sees ! she sees ! 
  Asleep, and it is only seven ! 
  O moon, that is so tired of heaven.