When happiness eludes us in the dark,
dying in the wane, forsake not the moon
It will wax again, shine its silver light,
the turning tide will ache. Not the moon.
When spring is young and full of love, the sun
brings pleasure, gladdens day, wake not the moon.
The morning chorus brings us new born day.
Birdsong floats above the lake. Not the moon.
It is dawn above the soft horizon
that will our tenderness untimely break. Not the moon.
When Venus orbits high above, my love is in
my arms again, the night, delight, take not the moon!