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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=532767" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Light o' the Moon</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">[How different people and different animals look upon the moon: showing that each creature finds in it his own mood and disposition]</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>The Old Horse in the City</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The moon's a peck of corn. It lies <br>Heaped up for me to eat. <br>I wish that I might climb the path <br>And taste that supper sweet. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Men feed me straw and scanty grain <br>And beat me till I'm sore. <br>Some day I'll break the halter-rope <br>And smash the stable-door, </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Run down the street and mount the hill <br>Just as the corn appears. <br>I've seen it rise at certain times <br>For years and years and years. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>What the Hyena Said</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The moon is but a golden skull, <br>She mounts the heavens now, <br>And Moon-Worms, mighty Moon-Worms <br>Are wreathed around her brow. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">The Moon-Worms are a doughty race: <br>They eat her gray and golden face. <br>Her eye-sockets dead, and molding head: <br>These caverns are their dwelling-place. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">The Moon-Worms, serpents of the skies, <br>From the great hollows of her eyes <br>Behold all souls, and they are wise: <br>With tiny, keen and icy eyes, <br>Behold how each man sins and dies. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">When Earth in gold-corruption lies <br>Long dead, the moon-worm butterflies <br>On cyclone wings will reach this place — <br>Yea, rear their brood on earth's dead face. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>What the Snow Man Said</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The Moon's a snowball. See the drifts <br>Of white that cross the sphere. <br>The Moon's a snowball, melted down <br>A dozen times a year. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Yet rolled again in hot July <br>When all my days are done <br>And cool to greet the weary eye <br>After the scorching sun. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">The moon's a piece of winter fair <br>Renewed the year around, <br>Behold it, deathless and unstained, <br>Above the grimy ground! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">It rolls on high so brave and white <br>Where the clear air-rivers flow, <br>Proclaiming Christmas all the time <br>And the glory of the snow! </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>What the Scare-crow Said</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The dim-winged spirits of the night <br>Do fear and serve me well. <br>They creep from out the hedges of <br>The garden where I dwell. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">I wave my arms across the walk. <br>The troops obey the sign, <br>And bring me shimmering shadow-robes <br>And cups of cowslip-wine. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Then dig a treasure called the moon, <br>A very precious thing, <br>And keep it in the air for me <br>Because I am a King. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>What Grandpa Mouse Said</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The moon's a holy owl-queen. <br>She keeps them in a jar <br>Under her arm till evening, <br>Then sallies forth to war. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">She pours the owls upon us. <br>They hoot with horrid noise <br>And eat the naughty mousie-girls <br>And wicked mousie-boys. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">So climb the moonvine every night <br>And to the owl-queen pray: <br>Leave good green cheese by moonlit trees <br>For her to take away. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And never squeak, my children, <br>Nor gnaw the smoke-house door: <br>The owl-queen then will love us <br>And send her birds no more. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>The Beggar Speaks</div><div style="margin:10px 0">&quot;What Mister Moon Said to Me.&quot;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Come, eat the bread of idleness, <br>Come, sit beside the spring: <br>Some of the flowers will keep awake, <br>Some of the birds will sing. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Come, eat the bread no man has sought <br>For half a hundred years: <br>Men hurry so they have no griefs, <br>Nor even idle tears: </div><div style="margin:10px 0">They hurry so they have no loves: <br>They cannot curse nor laugh — <br>Their hearts die in their youth with neither <br>Grave nor epitaph. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">My bread would make them careless, <br>And never quite on time — <br>Their eyelids would be heavy, <br>Their fancies full of rhyme: </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Each soul a mystic rose-tree, <br>Or a curious incense tree: <br>Come, eat the bread of idleness, <br>Said Mister Moon to me. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>What the Forester Said</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The moon is but a candle-glow <br>That flickers thro' the gloom: <br>The starry space, a castle hall: <br>And Earth, the children's room, <br>Where all night long the old trees stand <br>To watch the streams asleep: <br>Grandmothers guarding trundle-beds: <br>Good shepherds guarding sheep.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Vachel+Lindsay">Vachel Lindsay</a><div class=q>
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The Old Horse in the City

The moon's a peck of corn. It lies 
Heaped up for me to eat. 
I wish that I might cli..."></div>
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