From the titanic corners of the 4 seas comes a growing gust of wind
It whirls and whisks, twists and twirls, like a dancing devil in the cool midnight fog.
Till thesea itself can no longer embrace it.
The sky, so dark and dim, is inseparable from the waters
Then, out comes the sun!
Arising from above blue clouds
Its luminous beams reach far, far out
On to the tops of the highest peaks
Where emerald flowers bloom, delicate to the touch
yet never to be discovered by man’s sinister hand,
in the sanctuary of sanctuaries