Mists after mountain rain
Sun slanting through the pines that cling
to the walls of this
improbable chasm.
Feathery waterfalls drifting:
the unseen river sends up another mist of spray
It is all much the same, even to the twisted pine-tree over-
head and the feeling of detached unearthly height.
In this remembered landscape
only the sage is missing, the ancient happy man
leaning on a staff. The ancient man (obedient ears
attained long since) and his attendant boy.
I fill that place upon the mountain-path.
I do not fill it well: I have
no visible companions, no staff;
and when I bend, the face that stares back from the pool dismayed
has nothing of his wisdom: no trace of happiness.