Moon with Spring Blossom

 
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.