Reed, slashed and torn
But doubly rich —
Such great heads as yours
Drift upon temple-steps
But you are shattered in the wind.
~
Myrtle-bark is flecked from you
Scales are dashed from your stem
Sand cuts your petal
Furrows it with hard edge
Like flint on a bright stone.
~
Yet though the whole wind
Slash at your bark
You are lifted up
Aye —
Though it hiss
To cover you with froth.