The rustling of the silk is discontinued,
Dust drifts over the court-yard,
There is no sound of foot-fall, and the leaves
Scurry into heaps and lie still,
And she the rejoicer of the heart is beneath them:
A wet leaf that clings to the threshold.
Liu Ch'e
Ezra Pound
(1)
Poem topics: heart, dust, beneath, sound, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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