As moonlit night again shall reign,
So sadness leaves; the city waits.
And we embrace the stifling grates
That keep us from the garden's mane.
Who knows it now that saw it then,
Replete with child, hat, summer wear;
Alone in bud, who knew it bare,
Those open ponds in sleepless pen.
And standing mute in shadow'd sleeves,
Shapes gently seem to straighten, rise;
And brighter and more stone-like eyes
Guard alleys' entrances like eaves.
These paths exist like tangled flares,
Nearby and peaceful, with one aim.
To meadows does the moon move fast;
The wind these petals coats like tears,
And fountains fall to owners past,
Cool traces of their game will last,
Amidst the moonlit nighttime air.