Songs of the Pines

I like sitting alone when the moon is shining

And there are two pines standing before the veranda

A breeze comes from the southwest,

Creeping into the branches and leaves.

Under the brilliant moon at midnight

It whistles a cool distant music,

Like rustling rains in empty mountains

And there serene harp-strings in the fall.

On first hearing them, the heart of summer is washed away;

And this suffocating boredom comes to an end.

So I keep awake the whole night,

Both the heart and the body becoming clear.

Along the south street coaches and horses are stirring,

Who knows that under the roof trees of this place

The ears are full, but not with noise.