I look into a ringing brook
That threads its flight thru
The rocky clefts and cliffs.
Following its jolly babbling,
I, step by step, turn purified--
Like the perfectly round pearl
Rotated friction-free in the core
Of my mind. The cherry flowers
Stop falling off as soon as the wind
Has settled; the birds hide themselves
In the thicket; the mossy slopes of hills
Promptly grow dark. . . This is all about
The marvellous power that contemplation
Brings on us from the height of profundity.