Page:A Hundred and Seventy Chinese Poems (1919).djvu/163

 The wind has flattened the yellow mother-wort: Above it in the distance they see the walls of a house. "There surely must be people living who'll give you something to eat." They tap at the door, but no one comes: they look in, but the kitchen is empty. They stand hesitating in the lonely road and their tears fall like rain. [ 157 ]