YOU are the big drop of dew under the lotus leaf, I am the smaller one on its upper side,' said the dewdrop to the lake.

The trees come up to my window like the yearning voice of the dumb earth.

My day is done, and I am like a boat drawn on the beach, listening to the dance-music of the tide in the evening.

Days are coloured bubbles that float upon the surface of fathomless nights.

Leave out my name from the gift if it be a burden, but keep my song.

In the drowsy dark cave of the mind dreams build their nest with fragments dropped from day's caravan.