But the man does not fear death so greatly as he dreads life now that his body has become hideous and an object to be shunned by others. “My name,” he cries in the bitterness of his distress, “is more horrible than the stench of a (dead) bird on a summer day when the sun is hot.... Yea, my name is more abhorrent than a woman against whom gossip is told to her husband.” He then burst into a tirade against humanity in general. “The quiet man perishes,” he declares; “the bold-faced walk abroad. Hearts are full of thieving; the (only) man in whom one can trust is he of no understanding.... I am burdened with misery, and have no faithful friend....” Then, in the anguish of his mind, he utters a welcome to Death which will stand for all time amongst the greatest poems in existence. The brevity of his metaphors, which are yet amply descriptive, are reminiscent of the best Japanese poetry, and show the same masterly handling of the structure of imagination, the same ability in the selection of the essential materials for the formation of a mindpicture. “Death is before me to-day Like the recovery of a sick man; Like going out into the garden after an illness. Death is before me to-day Like the fragrance of myrrh; Like sitting under a (ship’s) sail on a windy day. Death is before me to-day Like the scent of lotus flowers; Like resting on the roadside to drink deep. Death is before me to-day Like the course of the overflowing water-channel, Like the return of a man from a ship of war to his house. Death is before me to-day Like the clearing of (mist from) the sky; Like a man fowling therein toward that of which he was not aware. Death is before me to-day As a man craves to see his home When he has spent years in captivity.”