HOME.--_There is the pool and there are the flowers, as of old. There is the hibiscus of the pavilion, there are the willows of the palace. In the hibiscus he sees her face, in the willow he sees her eyebrows: How in the presence of these should tears not flow,-- In spring amid the flowers of the peach and plum, In autumn rains when the leaves of the ~wu t‘ung~ fall? To the south of the western palace are many trees, And when their leaves cover the steps, no one now sweeps them away. The hair of the Pear-Garden musicians is white as though with age; The guardians of the Pepper Chamber[17] seem to him no longer young. Where fireflies flit through the hall, he sits in silent grief; Alone, the lamp-wick burnt out, he is still unable to sleep. Slowly pass the watches, for the nights are now too long, And brightly shine the constellations, as though dawn would never come. Cold settles upon the duck-and-drake tiles,[18] and thick hoar-frost, The kingfisher coverlet is chill, with none to share its warmth. Parted by life and death, time still goes on, But never once does her spirit come back to visit him in dreams._