In Raleigh’s epigraph, the moon guides mortality, untouched by time. Thoreau opens with that same full moon rising steadily in the east, not doomed to short nights. Then the speaker turns inward: his own path is declining, his fortune fading, and the moon’s steady rays don’t bless him. Yet he doesn’t resent her. Even when her light seems thin and pale from earth, he knows she remains mistress of the night in her proper sphere. There’s no moral, just a quiet recognition that human life is wayward and impermanent, while the natural world keeps its rhythms. The mood is wistful and resigned — a night-time meditation that acknowledges personal decline without demanding anything from the moon.
The Moon — Summary
Time wears her not; she doth his chariot guide; Mortality below her orb is placed. --Raleigh
The full-orbed moon with unchanged ray Mounts up the eastern sky, Not doomed to these short nights for aye, But shining steadily.
She does not wane, but my fortune, Which her rays do not bless, My wayward path declineth soon, But she shines not the less.
And if she faintly glimmers here, And paled is her light, Yet alway in her proper sphere She's mistress of the night.