Clearing at Dawn
The fields are chill, the sparse rain has stopped;
The colours of spring team on every side.
With leaping fish the blue pond is full;
With singing thrushes the green boughs droop.
The flowers of the fields have dabbled their powdered cheeks;
The mountain grasses are bent level at the waste.
By the bamboo stream the last fragment of cloud
Blown by the wind slowly scatters away.