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Updated: July 20, 2025
Sometimes in the warm summer nights the venerable moon rises stately and white out of the water; the old moon, that is the hoariest sinner of us all, with her spells and enchantments and her breathing love-beams, that look so gently on such evil works.
Here Wagner attains to such a high level of sacred feeling that our mind unconsciously wanders to the glistening ice-and snow-peaks of the Alps, to find a likeness there; so pure, isolated, inaccessible, chaste, and bathed in love-beams does Nature here display herself, that clouds and tempests yea, and even the sublime itself seem to lie beneath her.
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