Lamenting The Absence Of A Cherished Friend

Though small my basket, all my toil

    Filled it with mouse-ears but in part.

  I set it on the path, and sighed

    For the dear master of my heart.

  My steeds, o'er-tasked, their progress stayed,

    When midway up that rocky height.

  Give me a cup from that gilt vase--

    When shall this longing end in sight?

  To mount that lofty ridge I drove,

    Until my steeds all changed their hue.

  A cup from that rhinoceros's horn

    May help my longing to subdue.

  Striving to reach that flat-topped hill,

    My steeds, worn out, relaxed their strain;

  My driver also sank oppressed:--

    I'll never see my lord again!