You rose late, oh, Moon, today!
And she with her moonlike face rose earlier.

Moonlight came much before she did
and the world was dumb struck with her sight.

Her folded hands were more like lotus flowers
and she looked more pale than bright.

Why, oh, why did you rise late today, oh, Moon?
The sorrow around has made her pale.

Will she ever come again?
The Lady with the Lamp, oh, Nightingale!

Anil Sharma