Page:Frank Owen - The Wind That Tramps the World (1929).djvu/123

 hundred years ago. Still the rumor was current and it went far to make a mystic of the philosopher, Lao Tzu.

Lao Tzu was old. The flesh of his face had drawn and shriveled. About his eyes and lips were countless lines and wrinkles. It was as though he had been dried and bleached by the sun in whose warmth he joyed to sit. Now the fire of his eyes was dimmed but there was a day when the beauty of Lao Tzu was a thing to conjure with. This was in the days of his youth when his glowing yellow skin, his rosy pomegranate cheeks and his black eyes flaming with enthusiasm and youth, made people in the market place turn to gaze upon him. He was admired for his beauty but his lovely lyrical verse passed totally neglected. He was a master of lu-shih poetry which to be proper should be of eight lines, although he was equally adept in pai-lu, longer poems which may be of any length. To Lao Tzu poems were precious stones. He carved them and polished them until in their brilliance they were like stars.

Now it so happened that among those who admired Lao Tzu most was the beauteous lady Shun Hua. She was small of stature but lovelier than the first star of evening, or a rainbow-glory. Gentle and quiet in her manner, a girl to be cherished as one might cherish white jade or blue pearls. When Lao Tzu beheld the lovely Shun Hua his heart almost burst with desire. He became in that moment a genius. The lyrics she