Joy in the Oriole's Flight (thing)

 With dawn the moon declines.
 The morning clouds disperse.
 I lie wordless propped against my pillows.
 With longing, longing thoughts of dreams
	gone back to fragrant meadows.
 Heaven is high; the geese are scarcely heard.

 The orioles twitter and fly away.
 The last flowers fall to pieces.
 I am lonely in the center of the palace.
 "Stop them sweeping up those fallen petals in the garden!
 Leave them for the dancing girls to walk on, going home..."