Spring Day III by Yuan Mei

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

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