As I rested beside the salt kiln of some humble shore dweller, I recalled the words of an old song: “Among the rocks where cormorants live, or on a beach frequented only by whale, it matters not, if one has a lover.” What was my own fate to be? Were I to wait forever, there would be no one to comfort me; were I to cross distant mountains, there would be no place of rendezvous. [4.22]