Henry Lawson,
Shooting The Moon
(1896)
“ WE lay in camp in the fringe of the mulga, and watched the big, red, smoky, rising moon out on the edge of the misty plain, and smoked and thought together sociably. Our nose-bags were nice and heavy, and we still had about a pound of nailrod between us. The moon reminded my mate, Jack Mitchell, of something—anything reminded him of something, in fact. “Did you ever notice,” said Jack, in a lazy tone, just as if he didn’t want to tell a yarn—“Did you ever notice that people always shoot the moon when there’s no moon? ”
