Flora Macdonald College - White Heather Yearbook (Red Springs, NC)

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THE WILLOW Hsuan Tsung occupied the dragon throne and China was at peace. ln the rich valleys of the Yellow River and the Yangtze-lciang grew rice, barley, and waving corn Even in the farthest province the wine-pennant was flying by the road, a gay sign of happiness and good will Changean, the capitol and the marvel of the day, had never been so gorgeous and so prodigal Besides the great castle of the nine-fold gates, there were thirty-six imperial palaces, whose magnificent towers and pillars of gold rose far above the rest of the city, where the countless homes of the nobles rivalled each other in splendor, There were houses of pleasure without number, whose doors opened by night, offering music, dancing, wine, and lovely women whose faces were like the moon. l-lsuan Tsung was a perfect prince-brave and wise, foremost in knightly ac- complishments, and a lover of the arts l-lis court was brilliant with poets, painters, and pretty women One day in the Spring Garden, the lllustrous Sovereign was delighted with the newly green willows by the Dragon Pond and the hundred-fold notes of the nightingales l.i Po was called and ordered ta capture the beauty of the moment as only his art could do it. Court attendants brought for him a writing brush and the glory of that spring day comes to us in the song he wrote. The east wind blowing, the glass of Yingfchow is green, The spring-sweetness is about the purple palaces and crimson towers The willows on the south of the pond have turned half-green, They grow like delrcate wreaths of mist By the resplendent castle, Their thread-like branches, one hundred feet long, Dangling about the carved and painted pillars, !,..- While high above the sweet birds sing melodiously together-- ,,..f They sing with hearts stirred early by the spring wind, ff- ' Which rolls itself in the blue clouds and dies, 64'-I'-'T

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The creeping ivy clings against gray towers, The trees are old and wise and very tall, Their shadows lie, like lace, on every wall A mellow clock chimes out the drifting hours, As if to say, Time slips, while learning flowers- So many feet have echoed through each hall, So many years have gone beyond recall, So many sun-swept days, so many showers. Perhaps these gray stones, robed in ivy, feel That students strolling past are but a dream, Perhaps the bays and girls with youth agleam Are phantomlike and just a bit unreal To the tall trees that, standing calmly by, Draw strength and knowledge from the far-flung sliyl