To one forth faring through the Tschengi-Thor,
The Lo-ku Bridge, buttressed, barred both sides o’er
With lions cunningly so wrought by hands
Long dead, no one who counts them lives, it stands
Recorded. Whoso tries, counts o’er and o’er,
May not cease counting, of aught else think more,
But goes mad dreaming of a lion that stands
Upon the Lo-ku Bridge. You said ’twas true.
And added softer—should life call me where
You are not, and can never be, O! there