I wondered why my figured harp had fifty strings,
Each with its flower-like fret an interval of youth …
The sage Chuang was day-dreaming, bewitched by butterflies,
The spring-heart of Emperor Wang was crying in a cuckoo,
Mermen wept their pearly tears down a moon-green sea,
Blue fields were breathing their jade to the sun …
A moment that ought to have lasted forever
Had come and gone before I knew.