Your Honour is going to the ends of the southern realm,
The writings will befall where above the farmost stars gleam.
From the Palace the imperial edict is issued,
Many of the tribes should by the tablet be illumed.
The galaxy of flowers burst around where you may stay;
Among the drizzles loom up the sails of tender spring day.
Yet tell me please when will be the time His Highness will send
You back from the dark blue ocean to our midland?