Classic Poem

In a swirl they come forward and bow
there before the hall,
Eyes filled with love-longing
toward the sacred mats like jade.
She came but did not speak,
Her will was not made known;
And she is the evening rain,
makes the empty mountains somber.
The pipes grieve in shrillness,
Flurried strings throb with longing;
The carriage of the goddess
is about to turn majestically.
In a flash clouds draw back,
the rain ceases;
And green stand the mountains
amid water's splashing flow.