Such a slender moon, going up and up, Waxing so fast from night to night, And swelling like an orange flower-bud, bright, Fated, methought, to round as to a golden cup, And hold to my two lips life's best of wine.
The moon is waxing. December moon. Cold Moon.
Troublous times, departures from the faith, evil men waxing worse and worse, love waxing cold, are things distinctly predicted.
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