The flame-red moon， the harvest moon，

    Rolls along the hills， gently bouncing，

    A vast balloon，

    Till it takes off， and sinks upward

    To lie on the bottom of the sky， like a gold doubloon.

    The harvest moon has come，

    Booming softly through heaven， like a bassoon.

    And the earth replies all night， like a deep drum.

    So people can't sleep，

    So they go out where elms and oak trees keep

    A kneeling vigil， in a religious hush.

    The harvest moon has come！

    And all the moonlit cows and all the sheep

    Stare up at her petrified， while she swells

    Filling heaven， as if red hot， and sailing

    Closer and closer like the end of the world.

    Till the gold fields of stiff wheat

    Cry `We are ripe， reap us！' and the rivers

    Sweat from the melting hills.