Classic Poem

I

Your soul began to dance
One minute before twilight
Gave its sigh of semi-dark permission.
The sky became a floor
On which your soul performed a minuet
With the mystic stateliness of winds.
During the dance, one thread
Became loosened from the dress
Of your soul, and made the crescent moon.

II

Only fools believe
That breezes shift the roses
Within the valley of Hang Tso.
With lengthy whispers of perfume
The roses command each breeze
To tilt them in six directions,
Or watch the incredibly light
Upholding of their mantled stillness.
Most poets in the valley
Swear that the roses are tender,
Frail, and smoothly amorous,
But one poet, derided by the rest,
Insists that they are cold,
Indiscreetly strong, and careless.
The roses alone bow to him.

III

Floating above the hill-tops of Rang-Fu,
One greyish pink cloud assumes
The face of a ruminating, insolent girl.
One man upon the hill-tops exclaims:
" Invisible maidens, in dresses
Blue and perfectly matched by the sky,
Sometimes reveal their faces,
Remembering a little, riotous dream
Once confined in the valley! "
Another man remarks:
" This sprightly accident
Is not recognized
By the sky's tranquillity. "
But the third man replies,
With the fluttering prank of a smile on his face:
" Beauty is the instant
When blended light and form
Escape from domineering arguments. "