moon-ray

One feeble moon-ray struggled through the foliage of a tall pine-tree, and, reaching down the wide smoke-hole overhead, searched the ashes on the hearthstone with a pallid finger.

Lippincott's Magazine, November 1885 Various

Like the pool when but the moon-ray strikes to its depth;

Before the Feast of Shushan by Anne Spencer 1922

On the road from her house, I had sung it -- coming home in the night from her house -- when, in that great happiness which a man knows but once, I had leaped in the softness of the night, my heart traveling up the moon-ray in the driven flame of her kiss.

The Best Short Stories of 1915 And the Yearbook of the American Short Story Various 1915

Suzanne and the two Arabs were distant shadows to her when that first moon-ray touched their feet.

The Garden of Allah Robert Smythe Hichens 1907

Like the pool when but the moon-ray strikes to its depth;

The Book of American Negro Poetry James Weldon Johnson 1904

Ah! but to the night had been given that pale-gold moon-ray, to herself nothing, no faintest gleam; as well try to pierce below the dark surface of that water!

Complete Project Gutenberg John Galsworthy Works John Galsworthy 1900

Ah! but to the night had been given that pale-gold moon-ray, to herself nothing, no faintest gleam; as well try to pierce below the dark surface of that water!

The Dark Flower John Galsworthy 1900

The moon-ray crept along and spread itself over the heap of rags, the knotted fingers resting on the cat's rough fur, the seamed old face; it passed away, and morning dawned, with a peal of bells and the sound of footsteps on the pavement below, and still the two slept on.

A Budget of Christmas Tales by Charles Dickens and Others Juliana Horatia Gatty Ewing 1892

With an inarticulate cry the woman arose and hobbled along the shining moon-ray to the window, and threw open the sash.

A Budget of Christmas Tales by Charles Dickens and Others Juliana Horatia Gatty Ewing 1892

I lay still where I was, staring at the solitary moon-ray, and listening to the nightingale, whose rapturous melodies now rang out upon my ears with full distinctness.

Vendetta: a story of one forgotten Marie Corelli 1889