The Imperial Tombs

The girdle ornaments are chill
Of those that serve about the Tomb,
Lost in the chamber's vaulted gloom.
And there the Hall of State is still;
But when the wind of Autumn sere
Comes wailing through the Palace drear.

The Moon o'erpeers the land of Ch'in,
Now sloping down unto the West:
The Dragon Pool comes creeping in
The ancient building to invest.
Another day of travel done,
We anchor with the setting sun.

The water clock with dripping clear
As then marks out the passing Time:
And in my memory rise anear
Those Gardens glittering white with rime:
A thousand miles away I view
The Tombs and Yellow Hill anew.