In Exile

Through the green blinds that shelter me
Two butterflies at play—
Four wings of flame whirl joyously
Around me and away;
While swallows breasting to the shore
Ripple the waves they wander o’er.

And I that scan the distant view
Of torn white clouds and mountains blue
Lift to the north my aching eyes;
’Tis there—’tis there the city lies!
Chang-an arise! arise!