Exile

Through the green blinds that shelter me

Two butterflies at play --

Four wings of flame whirl joyously

Around me and away;

While swallows breasting to the shore

Ripple the waves they wander o'er.

And I that scan the distant view

Of torn white clouds and mountains blue

Lift to the north my aching eyes;

'Tis there -- 'tis there the city lies!

Chang-an arise! arise!