How rare the moon, so round and clear!

With cup in hand, I ask of the blue sky,

"I do not know in thecelestialsphere

What name this festive night goes by?"

I want to fly home, riding the air,

But fear theetherealcold up there,

The jade andcrystalmansions are so high!

Dancing to my shadow,

I feel no longer the mortal tie.

She rounds thevermiliontower,

Stoops to silk-pad doors,

Shines on those who sleepless lie.

Why does she, bearing us no grudge,

Shine upon our parting, reunion deny?

But rare is perfect happiness--

The moon doeswax, the moon does wane,

And so men meet and say goodbye.

I only pray our life be long,

And our souls together heavenward fly!