Classic Poem

Beneath the silent eaves, a tinking as of jade,
clearer and clearer as night draws on.
The sound of wind is nothing like it,
the dripping of raindrops is not so crisp.
Sitting by the window, I listen without tiring;
as I stir up the fire, my ears are amazed!
If you say it is plum blossoms falling,
no, plum blossoms fall lighter than this.