"I saw a man's bones lying in the squelchy earth, Black rime-frost over him; and I in sorrow spoke And asked him, saying, "Dead man, how was it? Fled you with your friend from famine and for the last grains Gambled and lost? Was this earth your tomb, Or did floods carry you from afar? Were you mighty, were you wise, Were you foolish and poor? A warrior, or a girl?" Then a wonder came; for out of the silence a voice— Thin echo only, in no substance was the Spirit seen— Mysteriously answered, saying, "I was a man of Sung, Of the clan of Chuang! Chou was my name. Beyond the climes of common thought My reason soared, yet could I not save myself; For at the last, when the long charter of my years was told, I too, for all my magic, by age was brought To the Black Hill of Death. Wherefore, O Master, do you question me?" Then I answered: "Let me plead for you upon the Five Hill-tops, Let me pray for you to the Gods of Heaven and the Gods of Earth, That your white bones may arise, And your limbs be joined anew. ... Would you not have it so?" The dead man answered me: "O Friend, how strange and unacceptable your words! In death I rest and am at peace; in life I toiled and strove. Is the hardness of the winter stream Better than the melting of spring? All pride that the body knew Was it not lighter than dust? What Ch'ao and Hsu despised, What Po-ch'eng fled, Shall I desire, whom death Already has hidden in the Eternal Way— Where Li Chu cannot see me Nor Tzu Yeh hear me, Where neither Yao nor Shun can praise me Nor the tyrants Chieh and Hsin condemn me, Nor wolf nor tiger harm me, Lance prick me nor sword wound me? Of the Primal Spirit is my substance; I am a wave In the river of Darkness and Light. The Maker of All Things is my Father and Mother, Heaven is my bed and earth my cushion, The thunder and lightning are my drum and fan, The sun and moon my candle and my torch, The Milky Way my moat, the stars my jewels. With Nature am I conjoined; I have no passion, no desire, Wash me and I shall be no whiter, Foul me and I shall yet be clean. I come not, yet am here; Hasten not, yet am swift." The voice stopped, there was silence. A ghostly light Faded and expired. I gazed upon the dead, stared in sorrow and compassion. Then I called upon my servant that was with me To tie his silken scarf about those bones And wrap them in a cloak of sombre dust; While I, as offering to the soul of this dead man, Poured my hot tears upon the margin of the road."