Shade of the Orange Leaves
The young girl that in her chamber from dawn till eve alone
Broiders silk flowers on robes, deliciously shudders
At the unexpected sound of a far flute;
It seems to her that the voice of a young man is kissing her ear.

And when across the oiled paper
Of the high windows the orange leaves
Come and touch and make their shadows run on her knees
It seems to her that a hand is tearing her robe of silk.

       From the Chinese of Tin-Tun-Ling
       Rendered by Powys Mathers