An English poem about the moon: the moon, my friend, the moon.
Bob tucker
I see the moon is round,
Have fun again tonight.
It looks for playmates on the ground,
Because there is no one in the sky.
It sneaked light through the Woods,
The moonlight seems to light up the breeze.
The cool wind is blowing and the colors are dancing.
Because it depicts its famous light for us.
The beauty of the moon haunts my heart,
Oh, your beautiful moon, so close and bright;
Your beauty makes me like this child.
Shout loudly to have your light:
A child with each arm raised.
Hold you in her warm arms.
Although there are birds singing tonight
Your white light goes through their throats,
Let me speak for me in deep silence.
Not just their sweetest notes:
Who worships you until the music disappears?
Bigger than a nightingale
moon
Your beauty has wrapped around my heart,
Your beautiful moon, oh, so close, so bright;
Your beauty makes me look like a child.
Seize your light and make a louder sound;
The child raised each arm,
I want to hold you and hug you tightly.
Although some birds sing at night,
Because your silver light shines on their necks,
Let me talk about my heart in deep silence.
More charming than their most beautiful songs;
The reverence for you is silent,
This reverence is better than your nightingale.
An English poem about the Moon: Carl Sandberg, the Moon for Children
The child's surprise,
In the old month,
Will come back every night.
She held out her finger,
A silent yellow object in the distance.
Shining through the branches,
The leaves are filtered with golden sand,
With her small tongue, she cried and said, "I saw the moon!"
In her sleeping bed,
Her little mouth carries the babbling of the moon.
English Poetry about the Moon: To the Moon percy shelley
Are you pale with fatigue,
Climb to heaven, stare at the earth,
Wandering without company,
Among the different born stars,
Constantly changing, like an unhappy eye,
Find no object worthy of its constancy?
Thin and pale like a dying woman,
She hobbled out, wrapped in a thin veil,
Walking out of her room under the guidance of a madman,
And the faint roaming of her aging brain,
The moon rises in the dim east,
A mass of white shapeless things.