The Oxford Book of Short Poems has arrived! With great restraint, I waited for the end of the day to dip into it. Found Shelley's "Waning Moon". Had my first glimpse of why so many people have liked his poetry.
The Waning Moon
And like a dying lady, lean and pale,
Who totters forth, wrapped in a gauzy veil,
Out of her chamber, led by the insane
And feeble wanderings of her fading brain,
The moon arose up in the murky East,
A white and shapeless mass.