My small, preserved princess, you cradle yesterday’s snow and last night’s shadow, each a parenthesis in fur around your perfect refusal. How delicately you decline the invitation to wake and play the part assigned. The nursery clock has stopped at forever, and still, you will not…
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I leant upon a coppice gate When Frost was spectre-grey, And Winter’s dregs made desolate The weakening eye of day. The tangled bine-stems scored the sky Like strings of broken lyres, And all mankind that haunted nigh Had sought their household fires. — Thomas Hardy
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晴空一鹤排云上， 便引诗情到碧霄。 A crane soars above the clouds and soars high, Lifts my poetic heart up to the azure sky. — Liu Yuxi 刘禹锡 (772-842)
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Moonlight flows like water, quietly pouring over leaves and flowers. A thin blue mist rises from the lotus pond. The leaves and blossoms seem rinsed in milk, or like a dream veiled in the lightest gauze. — Zhu Ziqing 朱自清 (1898-1948)
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