I LOVED THE sandy bank where, in the lonely pools, ducks clamoured and turtles basked in the sun; where, with evening, stray fishing-boats took shelter in the shadow by the tall grass. You loved the wooded bank where shadows were gathered in the arms of the bamboo thickets; where women came with their vessels through the winding lane. The same river flowed between us, singing the same song to both its banks. I listened to it, lying alone on the sand under the stars; and you listened sitting by the edge of the slope in the early morning light. Only the words I heard from it you did not know and the secret it spoke to you was a mystery for ever to me.
I EVER GO seeking for this self of mine; but how can I know the fugitive, who flits in dreams in changing forms and guises? Often have I listened to its voice in the heart of my own songs, but never know I where it dwells. The hours pass, the light fades, the farewell tune is wafted in the evening breeze from the flute of a passer-by.