Classic Poem

Morning, about six, as I look at the rim of the hill,
is that mist or haze?—as I look at the rim of the hill,
a thick mist rises and dances round Misen's hips.
Cloudy morning—is it cloudy to let the sun shine later?
To let out the rain—morning mists round Misen's hips.
Leave your straw coats and hats, rise to your feet. Look, the clouds are going, it's clearing!