Mid struggles to the demon's breast.
See, on those mountain ridges stand
Sweet shrubs that bud and bloom expand.
The soft rain ends their pangs of grief,
And drops its pearls on flower and leaf.
But all their raptures stab me through
And wake my pining love anew.[622]
Now through the air no wild bird flies,
Each lily shuts her weary eyes;
And blooms of opening jasmin show