LOOKING AT THE MOON AFTER RAIN

The heavy clouds are broken and blowing, And once more I can see the wide common stretching beyond the four sides of the city. Open the door. Half of the moon-toad is already up, The glimmer of it is like smooth hoar-frost spreading over ten thousand _li_. The river is a flat, shining chain. The moon, rising, is a white eye to the hills; After it has risen, it is the bright heart of the sea. Because I love it—so—round as a fan, I hum songs until the dawn.