On Thinking of Home by Po Chü-i (Translated by Arthur Waley)

The spring wind blows from the east;
It blows on the courtyard trees.
The moon rises out of the sea;
It shines on the bedroom door.

At this season my heart is full of thoughts;
I sit alone in the empty hall.
The lamp goes out, the night is far spent;
I hear the sound of the falling dew.

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