Pale moon over above a sleeping city
Why do you haunt me so?

Sending your beams to one
with love’s sweet longing

Round in your glory
Rich in your glow.

Deep moon high in your sacred dwelling,
Guarding the world below.

Carry my love to one who lies a-dreaming
Tell him I’m still waiting—my love is true.

Dorothy Smith
26 June, 1934

9 p.m. en route home on trolley