Shine on, O moon of summer.

Shine to the leaves of grass, catalpa and oak, all silver under your rain to-night.

An Italian boy is sending songs to you to-night from an accordion. 

A Polish boy is out with his best girl; they marry next month; to-night they are throwing you kisses.

An old man next door is dreaming over a sheen that sits in a cherry tree in his back yard. 

The clocks say I must go—I stay here sitting on the back porch drinking white thoughts you rain down. 

Shine on, O moon, 
Shake out more and more silver changes.