Full moons in the mist of the bough-hung park,
And a wan glimmer on the ceiling of my room …

I lie, staring upward …
Above the ceiling a woman is moving timidly to and fro …
And above the woman, the mist-filled sky,
And above the sky, the stars beyond our troublings …

The stars are not farther from me
Than you, so timidly stirring.