Written on a Wall in Spring

It rained last night,

But fair weather has come back

This morning.

The green clusters of the palm-trees

Open and begin to throw shadows.

But sorrow drifts slowly down about me.

I come and go in my room,

Heart-heavy with memories.

The neighbour green casts shadows of green

On my blind;

The moss, soaked in dew,

Takes the least print

Like delicate velvet.

I see again a gauze tunic of oranged rose

With shadowy underclothes of grenade red.

How things still live again.

I go and sit by the day balustrade

And do nothing

Except count the plains

And the mountains

And the valleys

And the rivers

That separate from my Spring.

From the Chinese (early nineteenth century).