Charles Baudelaire. Paris spleen (№ 419507)

But rather it evokes the thought of the moon, which has undoubtedly bestowed on it its roar power; not about a pale idyllic moon that looks like a cold newlywed moon, but a moon sinister and intoxicating that looks from the depths of a stormy night through ragged shreds of running clouds; not of a quiet and meek moon that illuminates the sleep of the righteous, but a moon overthrown from heaven, defeated and resurrected again, to which the Thessalian sorceresses cast their spells by dancing on the grass bending with terror.