Evening had fallen. A rim of the young moon cleft the pale waste of skyline,the rim of a silver hoop embedded in grey sand....[繼續(xù)閱讀]

    The moon was low in the sky over the pastureland; the face of it was scarred and scuffed where it had just torn up out of the snarl of scrub oak and madrone trees on the horizon....[繼續(xù)閱讀]

    At last about nine o’clock up she came in all her chastened glory,flooding the wild country with silver light,and throwing a weird sheen on the vast expanse of rolling desert before us,which looked as solemn and quiet and as alien to man as the star-studd...[繼續(xù)閱讀]

    The moon had just risen,very golden,over the hill,and like a bright,powerful,watching spirit peered through the bars of an ash tree’s halfnaked boughs....[繼續(xù)閱讀]

    A pretty quarter of the moon threw a pleasant light over forest and river,making a picture that would be a delightful piece of landscape study,could an artist only hold it down to his canvas....[繼續(xù)閱讀]

    …we had watched the moon float away above the chasm between the hills like an ascending spirit out of a grave; its sheen descended,cold and pale,like the ghost of dead sunlight. There is something haunting in the light of the moon; it has all the dispassi...[繼續(xù)閱讀]

    The night was an unwritten poem—the gleam and drip of light like the play of an incoherent mind,fluttering,slipping in and out of reality; never at rest; never the firm silver of true metal;burnished and gone like a dream....[繼續(xù)閱讀]

    The autumn trees gleam in the yellow moonlight,in the light of the harvest moons,the light which mellows the energy of labour,and smooths the stubble,and brings the wave lapping blue to the shore....[繼續(xù)閱讀]

    The moon had risen,and its orb was shedding a flood of light over the dark outline of pines which crowned the eastern mountain. …The rays from om the moon striking upon the smooth white surfaces of the lake and fields,reflecting upwards a light that was b...[繼續(xù)閱讀]

    The April sky was framed by the tawny sand and the pines. It was as blue as his homespun shirt,dyed with Grandma Hutto’s indigo. Small clouds were stationary,like bolls of cotton. As he watched,the sunlight left the sky a moment and the clouds were gray....[繼續(xù)閱讀]