It’s said that tonight’s full moon is the smallest and faintest of the year…

Art thou pale for weariness
Of climbing Heaven, and gazing on the earth,
Wandering companionless
Among the stars that have a different birth,—
And ever changing, like a joyless eye
That finds no object worth its constancy?

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Percy Bysshe Shelley // To The Moon (1909 - 1914)