TO ONE UNNAMED III
Time was long before I met her， but is longer since we parted，
And the east wind has arisen and a hundred flowers are gone，
And the silk-worms of spring will weave until they die
And every night the candles will weep their wicks away.
Mornings in her mirror she sees her hair-cloud changing，
Yet she dares the chill of moonlight with her evening song.
……It is not so very far to her Enchanted Mountain
O blue-birds， be listening！-Bring me what she says！