#AmericanWriters
I sit through the long night In the high tower, And listen to the autumn rain Outside my window. There is no sound of human life,
All streams flowing East or West Must flow into the sea; The current from the middleland Sweeps by the lonely island. Gold and silver pebbles mingle,
The dying sun lies sadly in the fa… The autumn wind blows mercilessly; The yellow leaves fall. From the mountain peak, Two streams parted unwillingly,
It is spring, And somewhere in the night A lute is playing. It sings of youth and joy, And love.
For a moment The surrounding utters no sound. Time ceases. The paradise of dreams come true.
Rain, Black clouds, Fallen blossoms and pale moon, The hurried flight of birds The arrival of lonely autumn
I wish neither to possess, Nor to be possessed. I no longer covet paradise, More important, I no longer fear… The medicine for my suffering
Our togetherness is like a sweet d… Too sweet, too bitter sweet, Whose awakening should have been i… And now like a dream you will vani… And only in dream can we chance to…
Though the night was made for lovi… And the day returns too soon. And so the time flies hopefully Although she’s far away. Other thoughts may come and go,
The surroundings utter no sound. Time suddenly ceases. Gently you fall into my arms. The years of a lifetime never reac… Yet they contain a thousand years’…
I live in memory of a dream Which has come and gone; In solitude I sit on my boat As it glides freely down the tranq… Across the blue sky, the swallows…
The sun sets low in the west; The farewell song is over; We are separating. Leaning on the sandalwood oar I g… Far away, the sky.
Once more I hold you in my arms; And once more I lost myself in A paradise of my own. Right now you and I are in A golden boat drifting freely on a…
Rays spring from the East like pu… The humming bird begins his flight… Happily he flies through the purpl… Looking for the lovely pink rose. On the mountain peak,
The wind is in high frolic with th… Outside the garden a little yellow… Clinging desparately to its mother… I pick up the leaf And put it in the book,