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A Feast of Lanterns · 1 passage
Dawn reddens in the wake of night; but the days of our life return not. Sweet-scented orchids blot out the path; but they die in the drift of waters and their flowers are blotted out. The Yang-tse-Kiang splashes through shelving maple-woods. The eye contains a far horizon, but the wound of spring lies deep in the heart. O Poet! turn thee to the Capital—to the men who shall make thee forget. Surely, the Earth-sorrow for the passing of spring from her quiet places is overwhelming.
Source: Internet Sacred Text Archive, file cfu/fol/fol21.htm.
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