Song of the Pines
I like sitting alone when the moon is shining, And there are two pines standing before the verandah; A breeze comes from the southwest, Creeping into the branches and leaves. Under the brilliant moon at midnight It whistles a cool, distant music, Like rustling rains in empty mountains And the serene harp-strings in the fall. On first hearing them, the heat of summer is washed away: And this suffocating boredom comes to an end. So I keep awake the whole night, Both the heart and body becoming clear. Along the south street coaches and horses are stirring, In the west city sounds of playing and singing. Who knows that under the roof-trees of this place The ears are full, but not with noise. Po Chu-I 9th C