Song of the pines

I like sitting alone when the moon is shining and there are two pines standing before the veranda ....
a breeze comes from the south West
creeping into the branches and leaves.
under the brilliant moon at midnight it whistle a cool distant music
like rustling rains in empty mountains
and there serene harp - string in the fall.
on first hearing them, the heat of summer is washed away
and this suffocating boredom comes to end..
so I keep awake the whole night,
both the heart and the body becoming clear.
a long the South street coaches and horses are stirring,
in the west city sounds of playing and singing,
who knows that under the roof stress of this place
the ears are full, but not wish noise.....