Chapter XIX

From Peking westward thirty _li_ there stands,
To one forth faring through the Tschengi-Thor,
The Lo-ku Bridge, buttressed, barred both sides o’er
With lions cunningly so wrought by hands
Long dead, no one who counts them lives, it stands
Recorded. Whoso tries, counts o’er and o’er,
May not cease counting, of aught else think more,
But goes mad dreaming of a lion that stands

Upon the Lo-ku Bridge. You said ’twas true.
And added softer—should life call me where
You are not, and can never be, O! there
I’d go mad dreaming of the lips of you,
Counting the kisses that you gave to me
In midnights dark as old Teng’s dynasty!