The spring mountains,
Are a misty heaven.
With darting arrows,
And soft reposing flowers.
The canyons are forever mystic,
The beds of evening joy.
As sleepers spread throughout the earth,
With cautions from the ocean.
Their spirit is one,
Unmoving lines of great compendium.
They are circles now in self reflection,
And out upon an inward glory.
A starry sky of great complexion,
With fingers on the moon.
Transposed upon the image,
Of endless seas of water.
Upon the waters are the deathless eyes,
As if no eyes were ever real.
And so transfigures all the earth,
Upon a world eternal.
An infinity of little circles,
Which splintered yet again.
With fixed eyes to look upon,
An endless grain of sand.