Thế Lữ

"Gnawing upon our resentment, we stretch out in an iron cage, Watching the slow passage of days and months. How we despise the insolent crowd outside, Standing there foolishy, with tiny eyes bulging, As they mock the stately spirit of the deep jungle. Here by misfortune, shamefully caged, We are no more than a novel sight to amuse them, some plaything... O stately soul, heroic land, Vast domain where yesteryear we freely roamed, We see you no more. But do you know that during our days of frustration We follow a great dream, letting our souls race to be near you, O formidable jungle of ours!"

"The muse lends me a lyre of myriad tunes, her brush of myriad tints—I want to play a wizard working wonders, magic tricks with all the sounds and colors of the earth."