Omnia Vincit
Anon

Fain would I change that note
To which fond Love hath charm'd me
Long long to sing by rote,
Fancying that that harm'd me:
'Love is the perfect sum
       Of all delight,'
I have no other choice
Either for pen or voice
       To sing or write.

O Love! they wrong you much
That say thy sweet is bitter,
When thy rich fruit is such
As nothing can be sweeter.
Fair house of joy and bliss,
Where truest pleasure is,
       I do adore thee:
I know thee what thou art,
I serve thee with my heart,
       And fall before thee!

The Departure of a Crane
Du Mu

He flies alone, while others flock.
Shafts of six feathers press on the wind.
His sound is lost beyond blue clouds.
A single silhouette crosses the moon.
It's a long way back above green fields
to the empty nest on a red-barked cinnamon.
does he know where his strong wings take him?
There is no end to the sky.