Dew upon lonely orchids
Like tear-brimmed eyes.
No twining of love-knots,
Mist-wreathed flowers I cannot bear to cut.

Grass for her cushions,
Pines for her awning,
Wind as her skirts,
Water as girdle-jades.
In her varnished carriage
She is waiting at dusk.
Cold candles, kingfisher-green,
Weary with shining.

Over the Western Grave-mound
Wind-blown rain