The Fisherman
The earth has drunk the snow,
and now the plum trees are blossoming once more.

The willow leaves are like new gold;
the lake is molten silver.

It is the hour
when sulphur-ridden butterflies
rest their velvet heads upon the flowers.

A fisherman casts forth his nets
from a motionless boat,
and the surface of the lake is broken.

His thoughts are at home with her
to whom he will return with food,
like a swallow to its mate.

                           Li Po