Tightly-closed Garden
Dai Wangshu

The garden in May
Is already flower-laden, overflowing with leaves,
But in the dense shades, all quiet, no birds’ clamor.

All paths are moss-grown,
And the padlock on the bamboo-gate already rusted—
The master is in distant provinces under the sun.

Under the sun in distant provinces,
Is there a garden, equally gorgeous?

Strangers poke their heads over the bamboo-gate,
Thinking vainly of the master beyond the sky.

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