在中国，一位老人坐在一棵松树的树荫下。他看见云雀，蓝白相间，在阴影的边缘，迎风飞翔。他的胡子在风中飘动。松树在风中移动。水就这样流过野草。夜是女人臂膀的颜色:夜，女人，朦胧，芬芳，柔顺，把自己隐藏起来。一个池子闪闪发光，像一只在跳舞中摇动的手镯。我用一棵高大的树来测量我自己。我发现我长高了许多，因为我的眼睛可以够到太阳;我用我的耳朵走到海边。 Nevertheless, I dislike The way ants crawl In and out of my shadow. IV When my dream was near the moon, The white folds of its gown Filled with yellow light. The soles of its feet Grew red. Its hair filled With certain blue crystallizations From stars, Not far off. V Not all the knives of the lamp-posts, Nor the chisels of the long streets, Nor the mallets of the domes And high towers, Can carve What one star can carve, Shining through the grape-leaves. VI Rationalists, wearing square hats, Think, in square rooms, Looking at the floor, Looking at the ceiling. They confine themselves To right-angled triangles. If they tried rhomboids, Cones, waving lines, ellipses -- As, for example, the ellipse of the half-moon -- Rationalists would wear sombreros.