Classic Poem

My idlest dreams go farthest,
South to a land of brilliant days in fall,
A thousand miles of hills and rivers, cold-colored sunsets,
Flowering reeds that hid the boats of solitary men,
And flutes played overhead in moonlit rooms.

My idlest dreams go far thest,
South to a land of fragrant springs
And rivers green beneath our boat-borne flutes and strings,
Back to a town of floating catkins mixed with golden dust
And crowds that fought to see the flowers.