In the yard of the white stone house over against my home,

The white magnolia blossoms are bright enough in the

sun.

As much as the breeze blows softly,

My room filled up with the perfume,

At the messenger which spring has already come,

That alone shows my heart is a deep green color.

The white, mass of clouds rushing to the east,

For that, the white blossoms,

Would sprinkle their leaves one by one.

A sparrow on the branch which appeared,

From nowhere before I know it,

Sings something best in this season,

From village kids running around without,

Spring is certainly pretty short, though.