The sun's morning rays break through the trees' canopy,
Warming the ground beneath its sleeping leaves.
A forest nymph inhales the sweet aroma of a flowering tree,
As a cool morning breeze ruffles her sleeves.
She beckons to a bluebird with her birdlike voice.
It whistles back and glides to her slender finger.
They hum in harmony, combining their voices,
And on the last note they long linger.
A spring is nearby' cool, clear water is bubbling from its bottom.
The nymph drinks of its sweet draught,
Like honey it tastes in spring, and like tangy mead in autumn.
This is the Morning Forest, existing in imagination and thought.