Classic Poem

The bright moon like frost,
A fair breeze like water,
The scene in all directions perfectly sharp:
Leaping fish in the winding stream
Round lotus leaves washed with dew —
All is silent and deserted.
Like the roll of the third watch drum,
A single leaf rustles
And the dark dream-cloud is rudely broken.
In all the vastness of night,
No place to seek her out again.
Awake, I pace around the little garden.

The weary traveler at the world's end,
Whose road back lies through mountains,
Has stared his heart's eyes out toward the garden at home.
Swallow Tower is empty —
Where is the beautiful Pan-pan?
Only swallows now in the locked hall.
Past and present are like a dream,
A dream from which we never awake.
The old joy, the new grief are still there.
In another age,
They will visit Yellow Tower by night
And heave their sighs for me.