Here let me sit, in this empty, cool, terraced hall

Here let me sit, in this empty, cool, terraced hall.
The soft breeze wafts into beautiful curve the thick line of incense smoke;
The great boom of Chionin's bell seems to pulse its length.
The great truth flashes on me of sitting just so before! —
Was it when Nobunaga built new towers in the West?
Was she the Lady O-tsu who sang poems at my side?
Or was I some noble believer of the Fujiwara court,
And did Komachi flash for me her matchless songs?
And there are vistas beyond of Indian and Chinese ages rolling their beauty and faith into the lap of Kioto!
I feel, I know, that the continuity of that spirit is not broken.
Though no lady or priest prays through my lingering soul, and these courts seem silent,
Yet is this moment before my death but as the links of sleep which bind the jewelled beads of my days.
I feel, — I know — I have lived here, and shall live again!
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