The Lotus-flower doth languish
Beneath the sun's fierce light;
With drooping head she waiteth
All dreamily for night.

The Moon is her true lover,
He wakes her with his glance:
To him she unveils gladly
Her gentle countenance.

She blooms and glows and brightens,
Intent on him above;
Exhaling, weeping, trembling
With ever-yearning love.