It thrives in silence and with calm --
   ephemeral and gossamer.
 It's ever-flowing harmony,
   gliding with a solitary crane,
   wisping like the gentle breezes
      that rustle and billow one's robe,
   trilling softly like a bamboo flute.
 How does one become one with it?
   A chance meeting, lucked into, but
      don't lunge forward, or it'll vanish.
 When you think it's attainable,
   it twists in your hand and is gone.

NOTE: The late Tang Dynasty poet, Sikong Tu (a.k.a. Ssŭ-k‘ung T‘u,) wrote an ars poetica entitled Twenty-Four Styles of Poetry. It presents twenty-four poems that are each in a different tone, reflecting varied concepts from Taoist philosophy and aesthetics. Above is a translation of the second of the twenty-four poems.