The moon watches from far above,
In obscured space of loneliness,
Feels whispers, cries and sighs of love,
Among all miraculous creation;
And guide hearts that dwell in brightness,
For light is the language of the soul
Of the fair, the ugly, the unsatisfied and all
Can wait no longer  in separation;
Nothing can be right more than the moon at night,
For ages and further in subtle lightness,
Unchanged moves, unhesitating high above
Forests, valleys,  primitive beings and civilized,
Odor and spirit of light's grace,
So quietly passes gently with frowning face,
Or eye of merciful fate or heaven's breast,
Feeding the fancies of desire, east and west,
So famous, yet glimmers with sad shade,
Quite always, as it is, pretends to be winking,
For lovers receiving his charm, charm of a king,
Lured easily by perfect beauty of perky maid,
So secret desire lifts light to outer space of loneliness.