Ezra Pound

“ South of the pond the willow-tips are half-blue and bluer,
Their cords tangle in mist, against the brocade-like palace.
Vine-strings a hundred feet long hang down from carved
⁠railings,
And high over the willows, the fine birds sing to each
⁠other, and listen,
Crying—"Kwan, Kuan," for the early wind, and the feel of it.
The wind bundles itself into a bluish cloud and wanders off. ”

“ I looked at the dragon-pond, with its willow-coloured
⁠water
Just reflecting the sky's tinge,
And heard the five-score nightingales aimlessly singing.
The eastern wind brings the green colour into the island
⁠grasses at Yei-shu,
The purple house and the crimson are full of Spring
⁠softness. ”