Classic Poem

A path strewn with a sprinkling of red;
A broad plain carpeted all over with verdure.
Hue of trees, lush and dark, hazy around the high tower.
The spring breeze knows not how to stop
Willow catkins blowing in a fine drizzle
On the wayfarer's face.

Leaves emerald-green—the orioles are hidden from view;
Pearled blinds drawn—the swallows are denied entrance.
Incense smoke calmly ascends
To whirl round with the floating gossamer.
Fumes of wine gone, I wake from a troubled dream
To find the slanting sun
Shining on a courtyard profoundly secluded.