moon-kissed

She glanced at him; for an instant, in the silvery moonlight with his curling black hair, he appeared a black pirate on a moon-kissed steed, performing a dramatic maneuver mat should have demanded his full attention — yet his attention was fixed on the cottage.

A Lady of His Own Laurens, Stephanie 2004

Her clear, grey-blue eyes, which I imagine are the exact color of the Caribbean, travels faster than her smile, and by the time the corner of her lips catch up, her eyes are already on a moon-kissed beach.

overtaken Diary Entry overtaken 2002

He rode down in the elevator as though it were a moon-kissed cloud, floated out to the taxi-stand on a star-spangled mist, slid into the cab and said, "Where can I catch the next rocket ship to Mars?"

Knocked for a Loop Rice, Craig, 1908-1957 1957

Thy moon-kissed roses seem: better than love or sleep,

Modern British Poetry Louis Untermeyer 1931

Thy moon-kissed roses seem: better than love or sleep,

To One in Bedlam 1920

Times without number have the great black beetling crags of these mountains been scaled by the furry, sinewy feet of werwolves; times without number have the shadows of these anomalies fallen on the moon-kissed, snowy peaks, towering high into the sky, or mingled with the rank and dewy herbage in the pine-clad valleys, and narrow abysmal gorges deep down below.

Werwolves Elliott O'Donnell 1918

From all sides queer and fantastic shadows of objects, which certainly had no material counterparts in the moon-kissed sward of the rich, ripe meadows, rose to greet us, and filled the lane with their black-and-white wavering, ethereal forms.

Animal Ghosts Or, Animal Hauntings and the Hereafter Elliott O'Donnell 1918

He did so -- not once, but many times; and the reverberation of his voice rang out loud and clear in the silence of the vast, moon-kissed forest.

Werwolves Elliott O'Donnell 1918

Thy moon-kissed roses seem: better than love or sleep,

The Poems and Prose of Ernest Dowson With a memoir by Arthur Symons Ernest Christopher Dowson 1883

He murmured a vague excuse about feeling too tired to talk to anybody, and then bade Mr. Jardine good night, and vent up to his room; not to sleep, but to fling the window wide open, and lean his elbows on the sill, and stare out into the exquisite summer night, the leafy wood, the moon-kissed crest of the hill, in a half-dreamy, half-hysterical state of mind.

The Golden Calf 1875