Conclude she bodes a tempest on the main,
And brews for fields impetuous floods of rain.
Or if her face with fiery flushings glow,
Expect the rattling wind aloft to blow;
But four nights old (for that is the best sign),
With sharpened horns, if glorious then she shine,
Next day not only that, but all the moon,
Till her revolving race be wholly run,
Are void of tempests both by land and sea.
Moon Halo.