A hermit’s gate is made of the stuff of brooms,
but sweep as it may, the clouds won’t stay away.
So up through the clouds, for sun I came,
with wine, to this high tower.
At evening, the sun declined
to come on down the mountain with me.
“Tomorrow,” I ask,
“you coming, or not?”
translated by J.P. Seaton
5 thoughts on “Spring Day III by Yuan Mei”
Like it very much!
Glad to hear it.
As metaphorical way,this poem is most impressive.
Glad you think so.
Believe me-it is sure.