After rain the empty mountain

　　Stands autumnal in the evening，

　　Moonlight in its groves of pine，

　　Stones of crystal in its brooks.

　　Bamboos whisper of washer-girls bound home，

　　Lotus-leaves yield before a fisher-boat ——

　　And what does it matter that springtime has gone，

　　While you are here， O Prince of Friends？