Classic Poem

The rose and orchid deck the fragrant isles,
And white clouds fly towards the Northern strand;
But though a thousand autumns pass away,
Our ‘Lord’ will not return to mortal's land.

The clouds are drifting to and fro in vain,
Across the river blows the autumn breeze,
And o'er the water floats a fine, white mist,
While moonlight falls on stream and wooded leas.

Upon the lofty ‘Kiu-e’ mountain range
Throughout the night the gibbons wail and call,
And from the voiceless boughs of tall bamboos
The tears so long retained in dewdrops fall.