Quotes about Clouds & the Moon

How like a Queen comes forth the lonely Moon
From the slow-opening curtains of the clouds,
Walking in beauty to her midnight throne!…
~George Croly, “Diana,” Gems, Principally from the Antique, 1822

The man who has seen the rising moon break out of the clouds at midnight has been present like an archangel at the creation of light and of the world. ~Ralph Waldo Emerson (1803–1882), “History”

The moon hung low in the sky like a yellow skull. From time to time a huge misshapen cloud stretched a long arm across and hid it. ~Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray, 1890

The pale and quiet moon
Makes her calm forehead bare,
And the last fragments of the storm,
Like shattered rigging from a fight at sea,
Silent and few, are drifting over me.
~James Russell Lowell, “Summer Storm,” 1839

Florence paced the staircase gallery outside, looked out of the window on the night, listened to the wind howling and the rain falling, sat down and watched the faces in the fire, got up and watched the moon flying like a storm-driven ship through the sea of clouds. ~Charles Dickens, “Chapter XLVII: The Thunderbolt,” Dombey and Son, 1846

Thick, threatening clouds, assembling soon,
Their dragon wings displayed;
Eclipsed the slow retiring moon,
And quenched the stars in shade.
~James Montgomery, “The Vigil of St. Mark,” 1806

It was a murky confusion — here and there blotted with a color like the color of the smoke from damp fuel — of flying clouds tossed up into most remarkable heaps, suggesting greater heights in the clouds than there were depths below them to the bottom of the deepest hollows in the earth, through which the wild moon seemed to plunge headlong, as if, in a dread disturbance of the laws of nature, she had lost her way and were frightened. ~Charles Dickens, “Tempest,” David Copperfield, 1850

It was a wild gusty night. The clouds were drifting over the moon at their giddiest speed, at one time wholly obscuring her, at another, suffering her to burst forth in full splendour and shed her light on all the objects around; anon, driving over her again with increased velocity, and shrouding everything in darkness. ~Charles Dickens, The Posthumous Papers of the Pickwick Club, 1836