 THE MOON, by James Russell Lowell, read for LibriVox.org by Andrea Fiori. My soul was like the sea, before the moon was made, moaning in vague immensity, of its own strength afraid, unrestful and unstayed, through every rift it foamed in vain, about its earthly prison, seeking some unknown thing in pain, and sinking restless back again, for yet no moon had risen, its only voice a vast dumb moan, of utterless anguish speaking, it lay unhopefully alone, and lived but in an aimless seeking. So was my soul, but when twas full, of unrest too overloading, a voice of something beautiful, whispered a dim foreboding, and yet so soft, so sweet, so low, it had not more of joy than woe. And as the sea doth off lie still, making its waters meet, as if by an unconscious will, for the moon's silver feet. So lay my soul within mine eyes, when thou, its guardian moon, didest rise. And now, however, its waves above, may toss and seem uneaseful, one strong eternal law of love, with guidance sure and peaceful, as calm and natural as breath moves its great deeps through life and death. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Moon by James Russell Lowell Read for LibriVox.org by Bob Sherman My soul was like the sea before the moon was made, moaning in vague immensity of its own strength, afraid, unrestful and unsteady. Through every rift it foamed in vain about its earthly prison, seeking some unknown thing in pain and sinking restless back again, for yet no moon had risen. Its only voice of vast dumb moan of utterless anguish speaking, it lay unhopefully alone, and lived but in an aimless seeking. So was my soul, but when it was full of unrest to overloading, a voice of something beautiful whispered a dim foreboding, and yet so soft, so sweet, so low, it had not more of joy than woe. And as the sea doth off-lie still, making its waters meet, as if by an unconscious will for the moon's silver feet, so lay my soul within mine eyes when thou its guardian moon didst rise. And now, how air its waves above may toss and seem uneaseful, one strong eternal law of love, with guidance sure and peaceful, as calm and natural as breath moves its great deeps through life and death. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. THE MOON by James Russell Lowell Read for LibriVox.org by David Lawrence My soul was like the sea before the moon was made, moaning in vague immensity of its own strength afraid, unrestful and unsteady. Through every rift it foamed in vain about its earthly prison, seeking some unknowing thing in pain and sinking restless back again. For yet no moon had risen its only voice of vast dumb moan, of utterless anguish speaking. It lay unhopefully alone, and lived but in an aimless seeking. So was my soul, but wind was full of unrest to overloading, a voice of something beautiful whispered a dim foreboding. And yet so soft, so sweet, so low, it had not more of joy than woe. And as the sea doth oft lie still, making its waters meet, as if by an unconscious will, for the moon's silver feet. So lay my soul within mine eyes when now its guardian moon didst rise. And now, however its waves above may toss and seem uneaseful, one strong eternal law of love with guidance sure and peaceful, as calm and natural as breath, moves its great deeps through life and death. End of poem, this recording is in the public domain. The Moon by James Russell Lowell, read for LibriVox.org by Donna Stewart, Seattle, Washington. My soul was like the sea, before the moon was made moaning in vague immensity of its own strength afraid, unrestful and unstayed. Through every rift it foamed in vain about its earthly prison, seeking some unknown thing in pain, and sinking restless back again, for yet no moon had risen. Its only voice, a vast dumb moan of utterless anguish speaking, it lay unhopefully alone and lived but in an aimless seeking. So was my soul. But when it was full of unrest to or loading, a voice of something beautiful whispered a dim foreboding. And yet so soft, so sweet, so low, it had not more of joy than woe. And as the sea doth oft lie still, making its waters meet, as if by an unconscious will for the moon's silver feet so lay my soul within mine eyes when thou its guardian moon didst rise. And now how ere its waves above may toss and seem uneaseful. One strong, eternal law of love, with guidance sure and peaceful, as calm and natural as breath, moves its great deeps through life and death. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Moon by James Russell Lowell, read for LibriVox.org by James Parkinson, May 8, 2009, Vista, California, www.jamesworld.org. My soul was like the sea before the moon was made, moaning in vague immensity of its own strength afraid, unrestful and unstayed. Through every rift it foamed in vain about its earthly prison, seeking some unknown thing in pain, and sinking restless back again. For yet no moon had risen. Its only voice, a vast dumb moan of utterless anguish speaking, it lay unhopefully alone, and live but in an aimless seeking. So was my soul. But when it was full of unrest to our loading, a voice of something beautiful whispered a dim foreboding, and yet so soft, so sweet, so low. Yet not more of joy than woe. And as the sea doth off by still, making its waters meet, as if by an unconscious will, for the moon's silver feet. So lay my soul within my eyes, when thou its guardian moon didst rise. And now, however its waves above, may toss and seem uneaseful, one strong eternal law of love, with guidance sure and peaceful, as calm and natural as breath moves its great deeps through life and death. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Moon by James Russell Lowell, read for LibriVox.org by Caitlin Foley. My soul was like the sea, before the moon was made, moaning in vague immensity of its own strength afraid, unrestful, and unstayed. Through every rift it foamed in vain about its earthly prison, seeking some unknown thing in pain and sinking restless back again. For yet no moon had risen, its only voice a vast dumb moan of utterless anguish speaking. It lay unhopefully alone, and lived before an aimless seeking. So was my soul, but when it was full of unrest or loading, a voice of something beautiful whispered a dim foreboding. And yet so soft, so sweet, so low, and had not more of joy than woe. And as a sea doth oft lie still, making its waters meet, as if by an unconscious will for the moon's silver feet. So lay my soul within mine eyes, when thou its guardian moon didst rise. And now, however its waves above may toss and seem uneaseful, one strong eternal law of love, with guidance sure and peaceful, as calm and natural as breath, moves its great deeps through life and death. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. THE MOON By James Russell Lowell Read for LibriVox.org By Lucy Perry My soul was like the sea before the moon was made, moaning in vague immensity, of its own strength afraid, unrestful and unstayed. Through every rift it foamed in vain, about its earthly prison, seeking some unknown thing in pain, and sinking restless back again, for yet no moon had risen. Its only voice a vast dumb moan, of utteless anguish speaking. It lay unhopefully alone, and lived but in an aimless seeking. So was my soul, but when't was full, of unrest to overloading. A voice of something beautiful, whispered a dim foreboding. And yet so soft, so sweet, so low, it had not more of joy than woe. And as the sea doth oft lie still, making its waters meet as if by an unconscious will, for the moon's silver feet, so lay my soul within mine eyes, when thou its guardian moon did strise. And now, however its waves above, may toss and seem uneaseful, one strong eternal law of love, with guidance sure and peaceful, as calm and natural as breath, moves its great deeps through life and death. My soul was like the sea before the moon was made, moaning in vague immensity of its own strength afraid, unrestful and unstayed, through every rift it foamed in vain, about its earthly prison, seeking some unknown thing in pain, sinking restless back again. For yet no moon had risen. Its only voice of vast, dumb moan of utterless, angry speaking, it lay unhopefully lone, and lived but in an aimless seeking. So was my soul, but when't was full of unrest to overloading. A voice of something beautiful, whispered a dim foreboding. Yet so soft, so sweet, so low, it had not more of joy than woe. And as the sea doth offline still, making its waters meet, as if by an unconscious will, for the moon's silver feet, so lay my soul within mine eyes, when thou its guardian moon did strise. And now, however its waves above, may toss and seem uneaseful, one strong, eternal law of love, with guidance sure and peaceful, as calm and natural as breath moves its great deeps through life and death. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Moon by James Russell Lowell Read for LibriVox.org by Ruth Golding My soul was like the sea before the moon was made, moaning in vague immensity, of its own strength, afraid, unrestful, and unstayed. Through every rift it foamed in vain about its earthly prison, seeking some unknown thing in pain, and sinking restless back again, for yet no moon had risen. Its only voice a vast dumb moan of utterless anguish speaking. It lay unhopefully alone, and lived but in an aimless seeking. So was my soul, but when twas full of unrest to our loading, a voice of something beautiful whispered a dim foreboding. And yet so soft, so sweet, so low, it had not more of joys and woe, and as the sea doth oft lie still making its waters meet, as if by an unconscious will for the moon's silver feet. So lay my soul within mine eyes, when thou its guardian moon didst rise. And now, how air its waves above made toss and seem uneaseful, one strong eternal law of love, with guidance sure and peaceful, as calm and natural as breath, moves its great deeps through life and death. The moon, by James Russell Lowell, read for LibriVox.org by Raven Notation. My soul was like the sea before the moon was made, moaning in vague immensity of its own strength afraid, unrestful and unstayed, though every rift it foamed in vain about its earthly prison, seeking some unknown thing in pain and seeking restless back again, for yet no moon had risen. Its only voice, a vast dumb moan, of utterless anguish speaking, it lay unhopefully alone and lived but in an aimless seeking. So was my soul, but when twas full of unrest to our loading, a voice of something beautiful whispered a dim foreboding, and yet so soft, so sweet, so low, it had not more of joy than woe, and as the sea doth off-slide still, making its waters meet as if by an unconscious will for the moon's silver feet. So lay my soul within mine eyes, when thou its guardian moon didst rise. And now, however its waves above, may toss and seem uneaseful, one strong eternal law of love, with guidance sure and peaceful, as calm and natural as breath moves its great deeps through life and death. The Moon by James Russell Lowell read for LibriVox.org by Secrets. My soul was like the sea before the moon was made, moaning in vague immensity of its own strength, afraid, unrestful and unstayed. Through every rift it foamed in vain about its earthly prison, seeking some unknown thing in pain and sinking restless back again. For yet no moon had risen, its only voice, a vast dumb moan of utterless anguish speaking. It lay, unhopefully, alone, and lived but in an aimless seeking. So was my soul, but went was full of unrest, overloading, a voice of something beautiful whispered a dim foreboding. And yet so soft, so sweet, so low, it had not more of joy than woe. And as the sea doth off lie still, making its waters meet, as if by an unconscious will, for the moon's silver feet, so lay my soul within mine eyes, when now its guardian moon doth rise. And now, however its waves above may toss and seem uneaseful, one strong eternal law of love, with guidance sure and peaceful, as calm and natural as breath, moves its great deeps through life and death. End of poem, this recording is in the public domain. The Moon by James Russell Lowell, read for LibriVox.org. My soul was like the sea, before the moon was made, moaning in vague immensity of its own strength afraid, unrestful and unstayed, through every rift it foamed in vain about its earthly prison seeking some unknown thing in pain, and sinking restless back again, for yet no moon had risen, its only voice of vast dumb moan of utterless anguish speaking. It lay, unhopefully, alone, and lived but in an aimless seeking. So was my soul, but when it was full of unrest to overloading, a voice of something beautiful whispered a dim foreboding, and yet so soft, so sweet, so low, it had not more of joy than woe, and as the sea doth off-lies still, making its waters meet, as if by an unconscious will for the moon's silver feet, so lay my soul within mine eyes, when now its guardian moon doth rise. And now, however, its waves above may toss and seem uneaseful, when strong, internal love, loud love, with guidance sure and peaceful, as calm and natural as breath, move its great deeps through life and death. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Moon by James Russell Lowell, read for LibriVox.org by Yameji. My soul was like the sea. Before the moon was made, moaning in big immensity, of its own strength of raid, unrestful and instayed. Through every rift it foamed in vain, about its earthly prison, seeking some unknown thing in pain, and sinking restless back again, for yet no moon had risen, its only voice, a vast-dumped moon, of utterless anguish speaking, it lay unhopefully alone, and lived but in an aimless seeking. So was my soul, but when it was full of unrest overloading, a voice of something beautiful whispered a theme foreboding, and yet so soft, so sweet, so low, it had not more of joy than woe. As the sea doth off-fly still, making its waters mead, as if by an unconscious will, for the moon's silver feet, so lay my soul within mine eyes, when thou, its guardian moon, did strize. And now, however its waves above, may toss and seem uneaseful, when strong eternal law of love, with guidance sure and peaceful, as calm and natural as breath, moves its great deeps through life and death. End of poem, this recording is in