It is like a gentle breeze in spring,
Softly bellying the flowing robe;
It is like the note of the bamboo flute,
Whose sweetness we would fain make our own.
Meeting by chance, it seems easy of access,
Seeking, we find it hard to secure.
Ever shifting in semblance,
It shifts from the grasp and is gone."
iii.—Slim—Stout.
"Gathering the water-plants
From the wild luxuriance of spring,
Away in the depth of a wild valley
Anon I see a lovely girl.
With green leaves the peach-trees are loaded,
The breeze blows gently along the stream,
Willows shade the winding path,
Darting orioles collect in groups.
Eagerly I press forward
As the reality grows upon me. . . .
'Tis the eternal theme
Which, though old, is ever new."
iv. CONCENTRATION.
- Green pines and a rustic hut,
The sun sinking through pure air, I take off my cap and stroll alone, Listening to the song of birds. No wild geese fly hither, And she is far away ; But my thoughts make her present As in the days gone by. Across the water dark clouds are whirled, Beneath the moonbeams the eyots stand revealed^ And sweet words are exchanged Though the great River rolls between."
v. HEIGHT ANTIQUITY.
- Lo the Immortal, borne by spirituality,
His hand grasping a lotus flower,
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