24 SEPTEMBER 1988, Page 32

There's never an end to my search for lonely places.

Perhaps to find myself, I tend to stray Down back-lanes, side-paths, foot-trails leading only To wilds more wild the farther I wander away.

Once, I recall, I chanced on a sudden river Where the track ran out at the end of an empty wood. There was no one there from whom to ask directions But white, beside tall grass, an egret stood.

Chao I (1727-1814)