The moon comes forth, bright in the sky;
A lovelier sight to draw my eye
Is she, that lady fair.
She round my heart has fixed love's chain,
But all my longings are in vain.
'Tis hard the grief to bear.
The moon comes forth, a splendid sight;
More winning far that lady bright,
Object of my desire!
Deep-seated is my anxious grief;
In vain I seek to find relief;
While glows the secret fire.
The rising moon shines mild and fair;
More bright is she, whose beauty rare
My heart with longing fills.
With eager wish I pine in vain;
O for relief from constant pain,
Which through my bosom thrills!
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Comments about this poem (A Love-Song by Confucius )
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827)
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