121
The world speaks to me in pictures,
my soul answers in music.
122
The sky tells its beads all night
on the countless stars
in memory of the sun.
123
The darkness of night, like pain, is dumb,
the darkness of dawn, like peace, is silent.
124
Pride engraves his frowns in stones,
love offers her surrender in flowers.
125
The obsequious brush curtails truth
in deference to the canvas which is narrow.
126
The hill in its longing for the far-away sky
wishes to be like the cloud
with its endless urge of seeking.
127
To justify their own spilling of ink
they spell the day as night.
128
Profit smiles on goodness
when the good is profitable.