The colors defy all art to reproduce them, the declining year, the memory of the rich hued summer, the pathos of something gone, the hush of stream, the absence of bird notes, the quiet, the intimate quiet of Nature, which is never oppressive, never aught but refreshing, and which leaves no scar nor wound!
The delicacy of the laying away the past and the hopefulness of it all! We would almost like too, to fade away into the ether, laying off the coarse garment of the flesh and finding what Buddha and every sage has sought!
“Some soft warm place in field, or wood,
The mother will be sure to keep,
Where we shall lay us down to sleep.”
SUNRISE OVER ASIA
I
Over the old worn world he came,
Flaunting his flames of red!
The stern walls of Asia guarding the sky,
Waited in calm, as in years gone by,
Upward he came, breathless, we said—
“Can he scale this fortress, centuries strong?”
His answer ’twas written in cohorts high!
He triumphed, night fled,
The day was begun, and Asia, she of the long, long night
Said, “Welcome, my son!”
II
So up rises the day on the days that are fled!
And Asia’s sun glows a brilliant red,
And the future resplendent of Asia will come—
Come as this sun, a splendor of life on the days that are dead!
South China Post