X
Oh, lotus leaf! I dreamt that the wide earth
Held nought more pure than thee—held nought more true:—
Why, then, when on thee rolls a drop of dew,
Pretend that 'tis a gem of priceless worth?[152]
Heñzeu.
XI
Can I be dreaming? 'Twas but yesterday
We planted out each tender shoot again;[153]
And now the autumn breeze sighs o'er the plain,
Where fields of yellow rice confess its sway.
Anon.
XII
A thousand thoughts of tender, vague regret,
Crowd on my soul, what time I stand and gaze
On the soft-shining autumn moon; and yet
Not to me only speaks her silv'ry haze.
Chisato.