whirling aimlessly through space.






The Odes of Confucius

1765-585 B.C.

Collected by Confucius about 500 B.C.





Sadness



The sun is ever full and bright,
The pale moon waneth night by night.
Why should this be?

My heart that once was full of light
Is but a dying moon to-night.

But when I dream of thee apart,
I would the dawn might lift my heart,