Classic Poem

The gold Hoang-ho lulls with fluctuant tide
The marble palace of the Mandarin;
Without bloom citron gardens, and within
Rise stately court-yards, porticoed and wide.

I hear of tinkling bells the silver din
From porcelain towers, whence caracole and ride
Great hosts of Mongols, while from Han-tung's side
The annual festivals with pomp begin.

Ravished I see a lithe, sweet, doe-eyed girl,
Che-Kiang's most sacred princess, passing through
The merry town where dragoned flags unfurl
Their gold and argent on her hair's dusk hue;
I see her enter, catch her smile of pearl,
And smell a wondrous perfume, strange and new!