The rustling of the silk is discontinued, <br />Dust drifts over the court-yard, <br />There is no sound of foot-fall, and the leaves <br />Scurry into heaps and lie still, <br />And she the rejoicer of the heart is beneath them: <br /> <br />A wet leaf that clings to the threshold.<br /><br />Ezra Pound<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/liu-ch-e/
