Tune: "Sand of Silk-Washing Brook"
A goblet of wine.
A verse newly composed:
The same old terrace and pavilion,
The same weather,
As last year's.
The westering sun —
When will it be here again?
Swallows coming back seem to be old acquaintances;
Flowers fade away, do what one may.
Inside the small garden,
Up and down the scented footpath,
A verse newly composed:
The same old terrace and pavilion,
The same weather,
As last year's.
The westering sun —
When will it be here again?
Swallows coming back seem to be old acquaintances;
Flowers fade away, do what one may.
Inside the small garden,
Up and down the scented footpath,
Translation:
Language:
Reviews
No reviews yet.