It Is Morning, Senlin Says, And In The Morning When The Light Drips Through The Shutters Like The Dew, I Arise, I Face The Sunrise, And Do The Things My Fathers Learned To Do. Stars In The Purple Dusk Above The Rooftops Pale In A Saffron Mist And Seem To Die, And I Myself On A Swiftly Tilting Planet Stand Before A Glass And Tie My Tie. Vine Leaves Tap My Window, Dew-Drops Sing To The Garden Stones, The Robin Chips In The Chinaberry Tree Repeating Three Clear Tones. It Is Morning. I Stand By The Mirror And Tie My Tie Once More. While Waves Far Off In A Pale Rose Twilight Crash On A White Sand Shore. I Stand By A Mirror And Comb My Hair: How Small And White My Face! The Green Earth Tilts Through A Sphere Of Air And Bathes In A Flame Of Space. There Are Houses Hanging Above The Stars And Stars Hung Under A Sea. . . And A Sun Far Off In A Shell Of Silence Dapples My Walls For Me. . . 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, And For Him I Will Comb My Hair. Accept These Humble Offerings, Cloud Of Silence! I Will Think 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. It Is Morning, I Awake From A Bed Of Silence, Shining I Rise From The Starless Waters Of Sleep. The Walls Are About Me Still As In The Evening, I Am The Same, And The Same Name Still I Keep. The Earth Revolves With Me, Yet Makes No Motion, The Stars Pale Silently In A Coral Sky. In A Whistling Void I Stand Before My Mirror, Unconcerned, I Tie My Tie. There Are Horses Neighing On Far-Off Hills Tossing Their Long White Manes, And Mountains Flash In The Rose-White Dusk, Their Shoulders Black With Rains. . . It Is Morning. I Stand By The Mirror And Surprise My Soul Once More; The Blue Air Rushes Above My Ceiling, There Are Suns Beneath My Floor. . . . . . It Is Morning, Senlin Says, I Ascend From Darkness And Depart On The Winds Of Space For I Know Not Where, My Watch Is Wound, A Key Is In My Pocket, And The Sky Is Darkened As I Descend The Stair. There Are Shadows Across The Windows, Clouds In Heaven, And A God Among The Stars; And I Will Go Thinking Of Him As I Might Think Of Daybreak And Humming A Tune I Know. . . Vine-Leaves Tap At The Window, Dew-Drops Sing To The Garden Stones, The Robin Chirps In The Chinaberry Tree Repeating Three Clear Tones.