I do not find a single comrade in the garden yet; For springtime is approaching and I am an early rose.

I look at myself in the mirror of the rivulet, Creating a companion through this self-deluding pose.

The pen that Destiny employed in writing Being’s scroll Inscribed a message on my leaves for everyone to read.

My heart is with the past; my eye is on the present’s roll. A prophet of the future, I proclaim the future’s creed.

I sprang up out of dust and I assumed a rose’s robe; But am, in fact, the Pleiad that was lost in the blue globe.