Classic Poem

The North wind blows the flying rain,
It settles bleakly down upon the River
Sprinkling the Tower of Hundred Constancies,
It drenches the Terrace of Nine Completions.
The cloudy drizzle hangs in the air like mist,
A wave of water scattered like wind-borne dust
At dawn I dress myself and then sit down,
While the serried gates seem bolted up for ever
My eyes and ears are undisturbed for a time,
I think of the ancients and how remote they seem
I have drawn in my wings but am still ambitious,
I swim with the stream, but fear I may not leap the falls
I find I cannot stir and stay at once,
As though I stood and havered at a cross-roads.
Let me emulate the man who conquered his desires,
And go to gather goosefoot on Mount North.