Classic Poem

The night was a corpse,
darkness falling
like ink;
coming down in every
shape and color
the frost.

The awful faintness fading,
the morning breeze begins
to blow.
A chilly tickling
pain begun in dreams
uncaused.

The eastern light
went foggy yellow
like smoke.
Rising at dawn, pearls
sparkled in the sky,
turned gray.

In a red of rhododendrons
the goddess of the dawn
looks down.
Sweet-throated roosters
she rouses up
to crow.

Conchs are blown, bells
ring out the morning
music.
The sunken world
swims up again, youthful in
the light.

All the flowers and weeds
put on the dazzle
of pearls.
The wind grows stronger
and shakes the priceless
splendor.

Like a new dream over
the eastern chaos burned
the gold.
Uncaused it flared up,
blazing, melting, the good
bright fire.

Creating with golden brush
the painter day
came forth.
Lamps lit up on the peaks,
for one instant powerful
magic.

River mists draw away,
towers glitter, their gold
melting.
Dewy with the nine colors
on its stem the lotus
flickers.

Supple and luminous,
aureate, carmine,
rosy,
the new day spreads
with the downy richness
of birds.

All those sparkling ponds, oh,
turn into lovely
Lhasas.
Baby birds, mouths open, oh,
are stirring, ready to take
the plunge.

Rising again the world
finds new labor for
the morning.
and brings back the nectar,
splashing colors on
the morning.

Hope rises new
with news of the new
morning,
demanding that everyone
make an investment