One by one, the stars come out:
Lights cast across the east:
So might a Chinese gardener set
Lanterns to guide a guest.
But his much furrowed land is far
From England and this lawn
On which I wait and watch each star
Made tangent to the moon.
That glowing, great, celestial work
Soars, kite-like, from the sea,
And for a moment seems to check
The full-flowered chestnut tree.
There paper moths, aspiring, rise
Beyond each candle bloom,
As though the moon, that silver rose,
Would give them landing room.
I watch and wish that all might stay
Unchanged, the moon not go.
But lights in Chinese lanterns die.
And the white moths of May also.