January The Thirtieth

IT is morning, Senlin says, and in the morning
Should I not pause in the light to remember god?
Upright and firm I stand on a star unstable.
He is immense and lonely as a cloud.
I will dedicate this moment before my mirror
To him alone, for him I will comb my hair.
Accept these humble offerings, cloud of silence!
I will thik of you as I descend the stair.

Vine leaves tap my window,
The snail-track shines on the stones,
Dew drops flash from the chinaberry tree
Repeating two clear tones.

- Conrad Aiken, "Morning Song of Senlin"