It is gone to-day

And I hear the wind call.

The wind?... that is all.

If the swallow will light

When evening is near;

If the crane will not scream

Like a soul in fear;

I will think no more

Of the dying year,

And the wind, its seer.

[Pg 69]

[Pg 69]

ON THE YANG-TSE-KIANG

Down the Yang-tse bat-wing junk

And tatterdemalion sampan glide,

Sails of brown and black and yellow swinging.

Down the Yang-tse bat-wing junks

Fish-eyed and gaudy take the tide,

Forth to the sea in sloth they ride,

The coolies singing.

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