air as the
     golden mist of dawn melts from off the snowy peak of the eastern
     hill.  She bowed herself above the shining mirror of the lake and
     saw the reflection of her face.  She started up in awe and stood
     still; then smiled, and with a careless sweep of her left arm
     unloosed her hair and let it trail on the earth at her feet.  She
     bared her bosom and looked at her arms, so flawlessly modelled,
     and instinct with an exquisite caress.  Bending her head she
     saw the sweet blossoming of her youth and the tender bloom and
     blush of her skin.  She beamed with a glad surprise.  So, if the
     white lotus bud on opening her eyes in the morning were to arch
     her neck and see her shadow in the water, would she wonder at
     herself the livelong day.  But a moment after the smile passed
     from her face and a shade of sadness crept into her eyes.  She
     bound up her tresses, drew her veil over her arms, and sighing
     slowly, walked away like a beauteous evening fading into the
     night.  To me the supreme fulfilment of desire seemed to have
     been revealed in a flash and then to have vanished. . . . But who
     is it that pushes the door?