But the moon arose at midnight,
Poured her flood of silver radiance,
Lighted all the forest arches,
Through their gloomy branches slanting;
Fell on Lingo, pondering deeply
On his sixteen scores of Koitūrs.
Then thought Lingo, I will ask her
For my sixteen scores of Koitūrs.
‘Tell me, O Moon!’ said Lingo,
‘Tell, O Brightener of the darkness!