When the sun rose I was still lying in bed;
An early oriole sang on the roof of my house. For a moment I thought of the Royal Park at dawn
When the Birds of Spring greeted their Lord from his trees. I remembered the days when I served before the Throne
Pencil in hand, on duty at the Ch‘ēng-ming; 1
At the height of spring, when I paused an instant from work,
Morning and evening, was this the voice I heard?