Morning Song Of Senlin

It is morning,

Senlin says, and in the morning When the light drips through the shutters like the dew,

I arise,

I face the sunrise,

And do the things my fathers learned to do.

Stars in the purple dusk above the rooftops Pale in a saffron mist and seem to die,

And I myself on a swiftly tilting planet Stand before a glass and tie my tie.

Vine leaves tap my window,

Dew-drops sing to the garden stones,

The robin chips in the chinaberry tree Repeating three clear tones.

It is morning.

I stand by the mirror And tie my tie once more.

While waves far off in a pale rose twilight Crash on a white sand shore.

I stand by a mirror and comb my hair:

How small and white my face!—The green earth tilts through a sphere of air And bathes in a flame of space.

There are houses hanging above the stars And stars hung under a sea. . .

And a sun far off in a shell of silence Dapples my walls for me. . .

It is morning,

Senlin says, and in the morning Should I not pause in the light to remember God?

Upright and firm I stand on a star unstable,

He is immense and lonely as a cloud.

I will dedicate this moment before my mirror To him alone, and for him I will comb my hair.

Accept these humble offerings, cloud of silence!

I will think of you as I descend the stair.

Vine leaves tap my window,

The snail-track shines on the stones,

Dew-drops flash from the chinaberry tree Repeating two clear tones.

It is morning,

I awake from a bed of silence,

Shining I rise from the starless waters of sleep.

The walls are about me still as in the evening,

I am the same, and the same name still I keep.

The earth revolves with me, yet makes no motion,

The stars pale silently in a coral sky.

In a whistling void I stand before my mirror,

Unconcerned,

I tie my tie.

There are horses neighing on far-off hills Tossing their long white manes,

And mountains flash in the rose-white dusk,

Their shoulders black with rains. . .

It is morning.

I stand by the mirror And surprise my soul once more;

The blue air rushes above my ceiling,

There are suns beneath my floor. . . . . .

It is morning,

Senlin says,

I ascend from darkness And depart on the winds of space for I know not where,

My watch is wound, a key is in my pocket,

And the sky is darkened as I descend the stair.

There are shadows across the windows, clouds in heaven,

And a god among the stars; and I will go Thinking of him as I might think of daybreak And humming a tune I know. . .

Vine-leaves tap at the window,

Dew-drops sing to the garden stones,

The robin chirps in the chinaberry tree Repeating three clear tones.