Add parallel Print Page Options

The wind goes toward the south,
and circles around to the north.
Round and round it swirls about,
ever returning to its circuits.
All the rivers flow into the sea,
yet the sea is never full.
To the place where the rivers flow,
    there they go again.
All things are wearisome.
    No one can express them.
The eye is never satisfied with seeing,
    nor the ear filled with hearing.

Read full chapter