Once upon a time I heard That the flying moon was a Phoenix bird; Thus she sails through windy skies, Thus in the willow's arms she lies; Turn to the East or turn to the West In many trees she makes her nest. When she's but a pearly thread Look among birch leaves overhead; When she dies in yellow smoke Look in a thunder-smitten oak; But in May when the moon is full, Bright as water and white as wool, Look for her where she loves to be, Asleep in a high magnolia tree.