A Flute With No Holes Is Not

Clapping My Hands With The Echoes The Summer Moon Begins To Dawn.

From The Pine Tree, Learn Of The Pine Tree; And From The Bamboo, Of The Bamboo

Just Washed, How Chill The White Leeks!

Seek Not The Paths Of The Ancients; Seek That Which The Ancients Sought.

The Temple Bell Stops But I Still Hear The Sound Coming Out Of The Flowers.