Tangled Hair
I shall catch the horse
Which the God of Night
Rides back in the morn,
And hide him under my little pillow.
The morning after our amour
While I make my toilette,
O nightingale of the hills,
Come and sing to my love.
Come and see me
When, with the pool as a mirror
And a large comb of jade,
I comb out my hair.
The purple shadow
Fell on the grass
As I combed my hair
In the morning breeze of the spring.
20 
