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.