Spring Maiden
A patch of snow remains
Like the discarded garment of a maiden
Who has gone to array herself
In a new flowered gown of spring.
’Tis hard to fall asleep
And ride in the carriage of dreams—
So pungent is
The odor of daphne.
The evening moon
Is a young maiden
Who emerges from the mouth of a dungeon
In a pale blue trailing skirt.
On the river bank in summer
A rustic lad
Washes turnips that seem like
Rhinoceros’ teeth.
30 
