Like a joy on the heart of a sorrow,The sunset hangs on a cloud； A golden storm of glittering sheaves, Of fair and frail¹ and fluttering leaves,The wild wind blows in a cloud.

    Hark to a voice that is callingTo my heart in the voice of the wind： My heart is weary and sad and alone, For its dreams like the fluttering leaves have gone,And why should I stay behind？