The blue mist of after-rain
Fills all the trees;

The sunlight gilds the tops
Of the poplar spires, far off,
Behind the houses.

Here a branch sways
And there
a sparrow twitters.

The curtain's hem, rose-embroidered,
Flutters, and half reveals
A burnt-red chimney pot.

The quiet in the room
Bears patiently
A footfall on the street.