A Farmhouse on the Wei River

 In the slant of the sun on the country-side, 
Cattle and sheep trail home along the lane; 
And a rugged old man in a thatch door 
Leans on a staff and thinks of his son, the herdboy.
 
There are whirring pheasants, full wheat-ears, 
Silk-worms asleep, pared mulberry-leaves.
 
And the farmers, returning with hoes on their shoulders, 
Hail one another familiarly.
 
.
.
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No wonder I long for the simple life 
And am sighing the old song, Oh, to go Back Again.

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