Early Audience at the Palace of Light, An
Cock-crow, the Purple Road cold in the dawn;
Linnet songs, court roofs tinted with April;
At the Golden Gate morning bell, countless doors open,
And up the jade steps float a thousand officials
With flowery scabbards. . . . Stars have gone down;
Willows are brushing the dew from the flags —
And, alone on the Lake of the Phaenix, a guest
Is chanting too well The Song of Bright Spring .
Linnet songs, court roofs tinted with April;
At the Golden Gate morning bell, countless doors open,
And up the jade steps float a thousand officials
With flowery scabbards. . . . Stars have gone down;
Willows are brushing the dew from the flags —
And, alone on the Lake of the Phaenix, a guest
Is chanting too well The Song of Bright Spring .
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