High beyond the thick wall a tower shines with sunset,
Where peach and plum are blooming and willow-cotton flies.
You have heard it in your office, the court-bell of twilight:
Birds discover perches, officials head for home.
Your morning-jade will tinkle as you thread the golden palace,
You will bring the word of heaven from the closing gates at night.
And I should serve there with you; but, being full of years,
I have put aside official robes and am resting from my ills.
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