With never the ease of a yawn
From wet dawn to wet dawn . . .
Ford Madox Hueffer
SCENTED LEAVES FROM A CHINESE JAR
THE BITTER PURPLE WILLOWS
Meditating on the glory of illustrious lineage I lifted up my eyes and beheld the bitter purple willows growing round the tombs of the exalted Mings.
THE GOLD FISH
Like a breath from hoarded musk,
Like the golden fins that move
Where the tank’s green shadows part—