How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank.—Shakespeare.
Mysterious veil of brightness made.—Butler.
Cynthia, fair regent of the night.—Gay.
The maiden moon in her mantle of blue.—Joaquin Miller.
Morals.—Every age and every nation has certain characteristic vices, which prevail almost universally, which scarcely any person scruples to avow, and which even rigid moralists but faintly censure. Succeeding generations change the fashion of their morals with the fashion of their hats and their coaches; take some other kind of wickedness under their patronage, and wonder at the depravity of their ancestors.—Macaulay.
We like the expression of Raphael's faces without an edict to enforce it. I do not see why there should not be a taste in morals formed on the same principle.—Hazlitt.
Do not be too moral. You may cheat yourself out of much life so. Aim above morality. Be not simply good; be good for something.—Thoreau.
Morning.—Vanished night, shot through with orient beams.—Milton.
The dewy morn, with breath all incense, and with cheek all bloom.—Byron.
Jocund day stands tiptoe on the misty mountain top.—Shakespeare.