1 84 CHINESE LITERATURE
The bright river, unfathomable.
The rare flower just opening,
The parrot of the -verdant spring,
The willow-trees, the terrace,
The stranger from the dark hills,
The cup overflowing with clear wine. . .
Oh, for life to be extended,
With no dead ashes of writing,
Amid the charms of the Natural,
Ah, who can compass iff"
xiv. CLOSE WOVEN.
" In all things there are veritable atoms t Though the senses cannot perceive them, Struggling to emerge into shape From the wondrous workmanship of God. W ater flowing, flowers budding, The limpid dew evaporating, An important road, stretching far, A dark path where progress is slow. . So words should not shock, Nor thought be inept, But be like the green of spring^ Like snow beneath the moon" *
xv. SECLUSION
" Following our own bent, Enjoying the Natural, free from curb % Rich with what comes to hand, Hoping some day to be with God. To build a hut beneath the pines, With uncovered head to pore over poetry^ Knowing only morning and eve, But not what season it may be. . . . Then, if happiness is ours, Why must there be action ? If of our own selves we can reach this point % Can we not be said to have attained ?"
1 Each invisible atom of which combines to produce a perfect whole.
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