Faintly gleams a new-born crescent to the seekers of the light; Who will see that early portent, on this pristine August night? Month by month, through countless ages, man has sought the Moon’s rebirth; Month by month her cycle guides us, on an ever-changing Earth. On each continent and island, watchers of the crescent blend, On a planet without borders, hope and vision without end. “Sing the wide-winged Moon!” cried Homer, watching from his distant sky; “Soothingly thy smile,” wrote Goethe, “spreadest round me, far and nigh.” Watchers of the sky, all poets, may you wax and never wane, Young...
Read more...