Although he was exhausted after his exertions on the beach, Algy found it very difficult to get to sleep. A beautiful full moon was dancing in and out of the clouds, and the wind was racing through the Marram grass. Every time he began to drop off he was awakened by the moonlight in his eyes or the roar of the gale. So Algy decided to enjoy the nuit blanche, and moved to a more comfortable spot on the dunes where he could lie back and watch the moon waltz across the sky. He was reminded of a poem by Emily Dickinson:

          The Moon was but a Chin of Gold
          A Night or two ago—
          And now she turns Her perfect Face
          Upon the World below—

          Her Forehead is of Amplest Blonde—
          Her Cheek—a Beryl hewn—
          Her Eye unto the Summer Dew
          The likest I have known—

          Her Lips of Amber never part—
          But what must be the smile
          Upon Her Friend she could confer
          Were such Her Silver Will—

          And what a privilege to be
          But the remotest Star—
          For Certainty She take Her Way
          Beside Your Palace Door—

          Her Bonnet is the Firmament—
          The Universe—Her Shoe—
          The Stars—the Trinkets at Her Belt—
          Her Dimities—of Blue—

[Algy is quoting the poem The Moon was but a Chin of Gold by Emily Dickinson.]