Iâ??m sick, for sure: deep darkness holds my heart,
Iâ??m bored with the people and the stories,
And dream of treasures of the kingdoms, glories,
And yataghans, all covered with blood.
...
How tranquil is this little mountain lake
Itâ??s filled with water like a cup
Bamboo looks just like little houses
And trees above â?? a sea of roofs. ...
Split the Lark—and you'll find the Music—
Bulb after Bulb, in Silver rolled—
Scantilly dealt to the Summer Morning
Saved for your Ear when Lutes be old.