The Moon
by Max Ehrmann

I would, if I could, bring back
    into fashion the moon and the
   stars, the dawn and the sunset.
   I rarely hear anyone speak
   of them. One would think these
   perpetual wonders had
   passed from sight.
There is peace and rest in the
   contemplation of these miracles
    that nature paints on the
    canvas of the sky.

But we do not want peace
    and rest; we are enamoured of
    noise and motion. A St. Vitus’
    dance has seized us.
Things must change. The nerves
     have a limit of endurance.

Tonight, I looked at the moon
    for a while. There was a
    faint circle around it.
A friend came by and asked what
    I was looking at. I pointed
    to the moon.
    “I don’t see anything.”
    “The moon,” I said.
    He chuckled and went on. He will
    report me as growing queer.

The mystery of the night!
     And our own mystery! Who
    knows what we are? No science
    has yet grasped us.
   The moon- beautiful, mystical
    moon- playing nightly
   To empty seats!