Classic Poem

Slowly rising, slowly strengthening moon,
Pardon us our fear in pride:
Pardon us our troubled quietnesses!

Aye, pardon us, O moon,
Round, bright upon the darkening!
Pardon us our little journeys endlessly repeated!

All halting tendernesses pardon us,
O high moon!
For you, nooning by night,
You having crept to the full,
You, O moon, must have understanding of these things.