Classic Poem

I

A faint phaenix-tail gauze, fragrant and doubled,
Lines your green canopy, closed for the night. ...
Will your shy face peer round a moon-shaped fan,
And your voice be heard hushing the rattle of my carriage?
It is quiet and quiet where your gold lamp dies,
How far can a pomegranate-blossom whisper?
... I will tether my horse to a river willow
And wait for the will of the southwest wind.

II

There are many curtains in your care-free house,
Where rapture lasts the whole night long.
... What are the lives of angels but dreams
If they take no lovers into their rooms?
... Storms are ravishing the nut-horns,
Moon-dew sweetening cinnamon-leaves —
I know well enough naught can come of this union,
Yet how it serves to ease my heart!