This spring evening the double gates are open,
And I wander out to breathe the night fragrance.
The splendour of the moon is like a prolongation of the day's brilliance,
And the light of the lanterns mingles with that of the stars.
On the southern dyke—blue-clad horsemen;
In the eastern quarter—red-powdered cheeks.
Of flutes and harps the music discernible from afar;
Of silks and satins an odour perceptible in the dark.
The streets are choked with men singing as they walk;
Carriages surround the theatres and cock-pits . .
Long before my wanderings were finished
The bells and drums sounded from the Long Willows.