the moon

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.


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