Proclaiming the Joy of Certain Hours
Cool wind rising. Sun sparkling on the wide canal.
Pink lofuses, bent down by day, spread open at night.
There is too much pleasure; a day cannot contain it.
Clear sounds of strings, smooth flowing notes of flageolets—we sing the “Jade Love-Bird” song.
A thousand years? Ten thousand? Nothing could exceed such delight.
Pink lofuses, bent down by day, spread open at night.
There is too much pleasure; a day cannot contain it.
Clear sounds of strings, smooth flowing notes of flageolets—we sing the “Jade Love-Bird” song.
A thousand years? Ten thousand? Nothing could exceed such delight.
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