Ch’oi Ch’wun
After the peach tree sheds her rosy bloom
I turn toward the south and watch for you.
Lightly you float before the gentle breeze,
Like blossoms from the garden of the moon.
Thus you return from far, enchanted lands
Where red-plumed birds that I would fear to name
Hover in dreadful swamps and dragons lurk.
Now, in our reedy shallows of the north
You seem content to join your quieter friends—
White herons and the ibis of the stream.
Sweet is the hour of sunrise when I wake
To hear you chittering below my eaves.
Sweet is the noon. I sit with pipe and fan
And watch your wings against the deep blue sky,
Flicker like silver flames.
We are old friends.
Spring after spring I wait for your return.
Autumn by autumn, when the chill winds blow,
My eyes grow dim as you fly south again.
I am delighted that you share my roof
And build your nest below these painted eaves.
I only wish you would not soil my rafters!
I am ashamed for you—ill mannered birds!