Swiftly through the years, beyond recall,
Solemn the stillness of fair morning,
I will clothe myself in spring clothing,
And visit the slopes of the eastern hill,
By the mountain stream a mist hovers,
Hovers a moment, then scatters,
There comes a wind blowing from the south,
That brushes the field of new corn.
(Tao Chien, 365-427, in New Corn,
170 chinese poems)
