English Rendering
Though the East Pavilion stands grand in state,
Here, we seek the Bamboo Grove’s quiet date.
Through ten thousand leaves—autumn’s whispery choir,
A thousand homes bask in sunset’s fire.
The gate grows still as the deep lane’s embrace,
Through the window—distant bells with unhurried grace.
Where moss creeps soft o’er the guesthouse floor,
Lingering, I brush this verse once more.
