English

Summah's nice, wif sun a-shinin',
Spring is good wif greens and grass,
An' dey's some t'ings nice 'bout wintah,
Dough hit brings de freezin' blas;
But de time dat is de fines',
Whethah fiel's is green er brown,
Is w'en de rain's a-po'in'
An' dey's time to tinker 'roun.

Den you men's de mule's ol' ha'ness,
An' you men's de broken chair.
Hummin' all de time you's wo'kin'
Some ol' common kind o' air.
Evah now an' then you looks out,
Tryin' mighty ha'd to frown,
But you cain't, you's glad hit's rainin',

Oh for the breath of the briny deep,
And the tug of the bellying sail,
With the sea-gull's cry across the sky
And a passing boatman's hail.
For, be she fierce or be she gay,
The sea is a famous friend alway.

Ho! for the plains where the dolphins play,
And the bend of the mast and spars,
And a fight at night with the wild sea-sprite
When the foam has drowned the stars.
And, pray, what joy can the landsman feel
Like the rise and fall of a sliding keel?

Fair is the mead; the lawn is fair

Once when midnight smote the air,
Eunuchs ran through Hell and met
On every crowded street to stare
Upon great Juan riding by:
Even like these to rail and sweat
Staring upon his sinewy thigh.

The rumble of thunder brings evening rain
cleansing the autumn landscape.
Lying on my bamboo mat, too lazy to get up
after my dream,
I contemplate the ants, those officials of the kingdom
beneath the southern branch.

A bamboo bed, rattan pillow,
vines climbing the bookcase—
here I loosen my sash, lie down for a nap
after the noonday meal.
As the wine gathers strength in me,
I travel to the land of dreams
and—suddenly—drop the book I was holding in my hand.

I travel far in a little boat,
the green mountains following behind.
The radiance of the woods shimmers blue-green colors;
the water's surface is clear as glass.
As I lie on my pillow, clouds enter the cabin;
I open the door—vines hang before my eyes!
Bring on the dangers of the rapids—
with our master boatmen, I feel secure.

Thousands of miles away—the Fu-sang Tree,
among the faint colors of dawn!
Vast ocean sky, seen by few travelers.
No need to follow the tides with your wooden bowl:
you can fly toward the sun on your golden staff!
You'll go on eating Chinese food as you travel back east,
but you'll put on native clothes again after you reach home.
Your countrymen are sure to ask: “How's the Dharma doing there?”
Just show them the palm-leaf manuscripts you're bringing back

My faint spirit was sitting in the light
Of thy looks, my love;
It panted for thee like the hind at noon
For the brooks, my love.
Thy barb, whose hoofs outspeed the tempest's flight,
Bore thee far from me;
My heart, for my weak feet were weary soon,
Did companion thee.

Ah! fleeter far than fleetest storm or steed,
Or the death they bear,
The heart which tender thought clothes like a dove
With the wings of care;
In the battle, in the darkness, in the need,
Shall mine cling to thee,

In the treetops,
cicadas exchange words—
partners in poetry.

In shadows
deep
stand pines
that through
countless ages
dropped needles
numberless,
leaving a courtyard
thick with dust
I pray
the wind
not to sweep away.