I hung green jade chimes by the window,
with a screen of peacock feathers beneath.
Whenever the wind blows they flutter,
and beguile me with their tinkling sound.
In the nights it penetrates my sleep,
like the sound of distant temple bells.
anonymous, Korean sijo
tr. by Richard Rutt
J. M. Whistler, "Nocturne in Gray and Gold," 1876
Sometimes she wanted to push herself through the deluge
Of light which poured from every window, pushed away dark
If only for a while, and glint in through the space between all things
So she might pour herself, dilute herself, with the liquid of these other lives.
(Michael T. Stowers kindly offered these lines in reply to the previous post)
What with the silence, and the possibility of walking out, at any moment over long wonderfully coloured roads to cliffs with the sea beneath, and coming back past lighted windows to one’s tea and fire and book - and then one has thoughts and a conception of the world and moments like a dragon fly in air - with all this I am kept very lively in my head.
Virginia Woolf, from a letter to Clive Bell dated 26 December 1909.