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 hush1.

The harvest moon has come！

And all the moonlit cows and all the sheep

Stare up at her petrified2， while she swells3

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.