One Thought, a Mortal Life · Stubborn and Foolish by Nature · 68 / 102
· Night Coming On
Beyond the tower a moored boat strains after the moonlit waves; within, someone braces the door against blow after blow. In dread that the west wind will stand guard and stretch the night out, madness breeds inside the .
Often I watch the twin shadows on either side of the wick, and with bare hands I snap the sword to put down the savage dream. The tall sways, soft with snow-fragrance. The sky turns white; I alone stay awake through countless ages.
Glosses—
put down: to suppress, to hold down;
snow-fragrance: the white flowers of the parasol tree;
countless ages (wàn sī nián): short for yìwàn sī nián, an immense span of years.
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