Much Madness is divinest Sense --
To a discerning Eye --
Much Sense -- the starkest Madness --
'Tis the Majority
In this, as all, prevail --
Assent -- and you are sane --
Demur -- you're straightway dangerous --
And handled with a Chain --
What they undertook to do
They brought to pass;
All things hang like a drop of dew
Upon a blade of grass.
To be under a cloud
Is not so sad a thing;
If you can love the rain,
And you can dance and sing.
I am not now.
I was not then.
That makes it sound
Like I've never been.
But I once was
And will be again,
But who can know
Just where & when?
Plain and simple words are chosen,
Even to express tangled thoughts.
Then one comes upon a hermit,
And one glimpses the heart of Dao.
The clear stream burbles its soft song
Amid the shady ancient pine grove.
A woodsman passes with his cordwood;
A stranger listens to a lute song.
A strong feeling takes one over,
Bringing with it bliss and wonder,
And one's easy link with heaven
Is tender as the sound of water.
NOTE: The late Tang Dynasty poet, Sikong Tu (a.k.a. Ssŭ-k‘ung T‘u,) wrote an ars poetica entitled Twenty-Four Styles of Poetry. It presents twenty-four poems that are each in a different tone, reflecting varied concepts from Taoist philosophy and aesthetics. Above is a translation of the eighteenth of the twenty-four poems. Translated titles vary — e.g. Herbert A. Giles titled this translation “Actualities.”
My heart leaps up when I behold
A rainbow in the sky:
So was it when my life began;
So is it now I am a man;
So be it when I shall grow old,
Or let me die!
The Child is father of the Man;
And I could wish my days to be
Bound each to each by natural piety.
He clasps the crag with crooked hands;
Close to the sun in lonely lands
Ring'd with the azure world, he stands.
The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls;
He watches from his mountain walls,
And like a thunderbolt he falls.
Little Lamb who made thee
Dost thou know who made thee
Gave thee life & bid thee feed.
By the stream & o'er the mead;
Gave thee clothing of delight,
Softest clothing wooly bright;
Gave thee such a tender voice,
Making all the vales rejoice!
Little Lamb who made thee
Dost thou know who made thee
Little Lamb I'll tell thee,
Little Lamb I'll tell thee!
He is called by thy name,
For he calls himself a Lamb:
He is meek & he is mild,
He became a little child:
I a child & thou a lamb,
We are called by his name.
Little Lamb God bless thee.
Little Lamb God bless thee.
An evergreen and a red, red rose:
One slowly, but dully, ever grows;
One springs to life only for a short time.
Lifespan pine and beauty rose, apposed?
And risk vice versa? One never knows!
When I am dead, my dearest,
Sing no sad songs for me;
Plant thou no roses at my head,
Nor shady cypress tree:
Be the green grass above me
With showers and dew drops wet;
And if thou wilt, remember,
And if thou wilt, forget.
I shall not see the shadows,
I shall not feel the rain;
I shall not hear the nightingale
Sing on, as if in pain:
And dreaming through the twilight
That doth not rise nor set,
Haply I may remember,
And haply may forget.
Tiger Riding for Beginners 