Bell Hill

BELL HILL

In the ravine the water wanders through;
Soundless it laps the stems of tall bamboo.
Westward a tiny strip of green all scrolled
With fairy pennons flaunting, red and gold.
Oh rare! Oh delicate is spring!
Thatched roofs face one another. All day long
Silent I dream. No bird breaks into song,
The very hills are slumbering.