Grasses are misty, The waters silent- A tranquil evening.
In lantern-light My yellow Chrysanthemums Lost all their color
In the spring rain, The pond and the river Have become one.
Throw open your window and let the scenery of clouds and sky enter your room.
The end of spring- the poet is brooding about editors.
I came to the flowers; I slept beneath them; this was my leisure.