A wet leaf that clings to the threshold.
Fan-piece, for her Imperial Lord
O fan of white silk,
clear as frost on the grass-blade,
You also are laid aside.
Ts’ai Chi’h
The petals fall in the fountain,
the orange-coloured rose-leaves,
Their ochre clings to the stone.
In a Station of the Metro
The apparition of these faces in the crowd;
Petals on a wet, black bough.