Foto © Frank Becker Shade of the Orange Leaves   The young girl that in her chamber from dawn till eve alone Broiders silk flowers on robes, deliciously shudders At the unexpected sound of a far flute; It seems to her that the voice of a young man is kissing her ear.   And when across the oiled paper Of the high windows the orange leaves Come and touch and make their shadows run on her knees It seems to her that a hand is tearing her robe of silk.   Tin Tun-ling (from the Chinese by Edward Powys Mathers)