Morning Studies

Smooth and white the walls that ring the pool,
Carefully swept the rose-walk's mossy green,
Across the water dimpling winds blow cool
Where lotus-leaves as large as fans are seen.
What does yon flower-bright pavilion hold?
Simply a lute and there a song enscrolled.
To the sound of dropping pearls I turn the leaves,
Playing, swaying beneath the spell the soul of Autumn weaves.
Thus quietly the morning studies end,
And so I wait my friend.