To drive away my bitterness

I write this thought with my narrowed breath
On the white frost.

_From the Chinese of Wang Chi (sixth and seventh centuries)._



A FLUTE OF MARVEL

Under the leaves and cool flowers
The wind brought me the sound of a flute
From far away.

I cut a branch of willow
And answered with a lazy song.

Even at night, when all slept,
The birds were listening to a conversation
In their own language.

_From the Chinese of Li Po (705-763)._



THE WILLOW-LEAF

I am in love with a child dreaming at the window.