FROM AN UPPER STORY
Flowers， as high as my window， hurt the heart of a wanderer
For I see， from this high vantage， sadness everywhere.
The Silken River， bright with spring， floats between earth and heaven
Like a line of cloud by the Jade Peak， between ancient days and now.
……Though the State is established for a while as firm as the North Star
And bandits dare not venture from the western hills，
Yet sorry in the twilight for the woes of a longvanished Emperor，
I am singing the song his Premier sang when still unestranged from the mountain.