Classic Poem

The year was tan-wo , it was the fourth month, summer's first,
 The thirty-seventh day of the cycle, at sunset, when an owl alighted in my house.
 On the corner of my seat it perched, completely at ease.
 I marveled at the reason for this uncanny visitation
 And opened a book to discover the omen. The oracle yielded the maxim:
 “When a wild bird enters a house, the master is about to leave.”
 I should have liked to ask the owl: Where am I to go?
 If lucky, let me know; if bad, tell me the worst.
 Be it swift or slow, tell me when it is to be.
 The owl sighed; it raised its head and flapped its wings
 But could not speak.—Let me say what it might reply:
 All things are a flux, with never any rest
 Whirling, rising, advancing, retreating;
 Body and breath do a turn together—change form and slough off,
 Infinitely subtle, beyond words to express.
 From disaster fortune comes, in fortune lurks disaster
 Grief and joy gather at the same gate, good luck and bad share the same abode.
 Though Wu was great and strong, Fu-ch'ai met with defeat;
 Yüeh was driven to refuge on K'uai-chi, but Kou-chien became hegemon.
 Li Ssu emigrated to become minister, but in the end he suffered the Five Punishments.
 Fu Yüeh was once in bonds, before he was minister to Wu-ting.
So
 Disaster is to fortune as strands of a single rope,
 Fate is past understanding—who comprehends its bounds?
 Force water and it spurts, force an arrow and it goes far.
 All things are propelled in circles, undulating and revolving—
 Clouds rise and rain falls, tangled in contingent alternation.
 On the Great Potter's wheel creatures are shaped in all their infinite variety.
 Heaven cannot be predicted, the Way cannot be foretold,
 Late or early, it is predetermined; who knows when his time will be?
Consider then:
 Heaven and Earth are a crucible, the Creator is the smith;
 Yin and yang are the charcoal, living creatures are the bronze:
 Combining, scattering, waning, waxing—where is any pattern?
 A thousand changes, a myriad transformations with never any end.
 If by chance one becomes a man, it is not a state to cling to.
 If one be instead another creature, what cause is that for regret?
 A merely clever man is partial to self, despising other, vaunting ego;
 The man of understanding adopts the larger view: nothing exists to take exception to.
 The miser will do anything for his hoard, the hero for his repute;
 The vainglorious is ready to die for power, the common man clings to life.
 Driven by aversions and lured by desires, men dash madly west or east;
 The Great Man is not biased, the million changes are all one to him.
 The stupid man is bound by custom, confined as though in fetters;
 The Perfect Man is above circumstance, Tao is his only friend.
 The mass man vacillates, his mind replete with likes and dislikes;
 The True Man is tranquil, he takes his stand with Tao.
 Divest yourself of knowledge and ignore your body, until, transported, you lose self;
 Be detached, remote, and soar with Tao.
 Float with the flowing stream, or rest against the isle,
 Surrender to the workings of fate, unconcerned for self,
 Let your life be like a floating, your death like a rest.
 Placid as the peaceful waters of a deep pool, buoyant as an unfastened boat,
 Find no cause for complacency in life, but cultivate emptiness and drift.
 The Man of Virtue is unattached; recognizing fate, he does not worry.
 Be not dismayed by petty pricks and checks!