Sound no more a hundred somber horns,
Nor the sweet lyre’s singing strings.
The bright banners from sight be hid,
Of revel songs we now have no need.
Hush the lay chatter of easy spring
And musing mood autumn doth bring.
Greet not the rich moist monsoon
That by harsh summer is soon undone.
Each new page empty like the old,
Of all mine stories that can’t be told.
Oh harsh melancholy invading breast
The lone glimmering hope to wrest.
Leave for me a soft lilting lullaby sweet
When from endurances I must perforce rest.