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15th of 8th moon

The flying mirror of the Moon is dazzling in mine eyes.
But, broken like a sword, my hope that distant home denies.
I come from wandering o'er the Earth--a creeping weed am I!
I seek the elixir of life--but ah! you Heaven is high.


These moon-lit waters one would think were made of frost and snow.
While in the woods each feathered bird the piercing moonbeams show.
Upon the Rabbit in the Moon I stare, and gazing dote;
As though I hoped to count the hairs upon his snowy coat.