AT the western window I paused from writing rescripts; The pines and bamboos were all buried in stillness. The moon rose and a calm wind came; Suddenly, it was like an evening in the hills. And so, as I dozed, I dreamed of the South West And thought I was staying at the Hsien-yu Temple. When I woke and heard the dripping of the Palace clock I still thought it the murmur of a mountain stream. |