I
run as a musk-deer runs in
the shadow of the forest mad with his own perfume.
The
night is the night of mid-May, the breeze is the breeze of the south.
I
lose my way and I wander, I seek what I cannot get, I get what I do not
seek.
From
my heart comes out and dances the image of my own desire.
The
gleaming vision flits on.
I
try to clasp it firmly, it eludes me and leads me astray.
I
seek what I cannot get, I get what I do not seek.