Which is so old antiquity's

Far self cannot divine

Its birth, but knows that Kwannon, she

Of mercy's might benign,

Has reached her thousand hands always

From it to Nippon's line.

And She should hear my many prayers,

And have my freest gifts.

[Pg 13]

And many days beside her should

I watch the crystal rifts

Of Otawa's clear waters earn

Their way, o'er rocks and drifts,

Beside the trestled temple down—

Like murmurs of sweet shrifts.

Then, when the city wearied me,

To Katsura I'd wend—

A garden hid across green miles

Of rice-lands quaintly penned.

And, by the stork-bestridden lake,

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