The moon arises, friend of waterlilies
and bringer of sleep to the lotus grove,
fondling as it were the nymphs of the directions
with his rays as fair as saffron.
Grieve not, oh earth; the darkness will not last.
Be happy, lily pond; do not despair…
The moon now rises, a lamp to all the world,
sole mountain from which flow
all streams of moonlight nectar.
Seeing delightful things, hearing sweet sounds,
since a man becomes sad even though they please him:
Surely, he remembers in his heart something he is yet
– friendships in another life, whose emotion is constant.
See, shy one, the Sun
hanging in the West has made
With his long image in the water of the lake
a causeway as of gold.
The Moon, combing the darkness with his beams,
as if with his fingers the massy hair of night,
Seems to kiss her face
whose eyes – the lotuses – have closed into their buds…
As the king was drinking in the dear face of his son,
his eye motionless as a lotus in the calm;
His intense delight could not be contained within
like the high tide of the great ocean after seeing the
The cat, thinking its rays are milk,
licks them from the dish;
the elephant, seeing them woven through the lattice of the trees,
takes them for lotus stems;
the damsel after love would draw them from her couch
as if they were her dress:
see how the moon in its pride of light
has cozened all the world.
The moon has set and
the Pleiades. Middle
of the night, time spins
away, and I lie alone.