The brother sits within the hollow of the hills
Alone, rapt in thought’s ecstasy. No higher bliss
Is given to men than this.
Or where by rivers flowers crowd the bank,
And fragrant rushes scent the tranquil air
With heart serene the brother sits to see,
Alone, rapt in an ecstasy. No higher bliss
Is given to men than this.”
And another:
“Whene’er I see the crane, her clear pale wings