Life has loveliness to sell, All beautiful and splendid things, Blue waves whitened on a cliff, Soaring fire that sways and sings, And children's faces looking up Holding wonder like a cup.
Life has loveliness to sell, Music like a curve of gold, Scent of pine trees in the rain, Eyes that love you, arms that hold, And for your spirit's still delight, Holy thoughts that star the night.
Spend all you have for loveliness, Buy it and never count the cost; For one white singing hour of peace Count many a year of strife well lost, And for a breath of ecstasy Give all you have been, or could be.
The world is too much with us; late and soon, Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers; -- Little we see in Nature that is ours; We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon! This Sea that bares her bosom to the moon; The winds that will be howling at all hours, And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers; For this, for everything, we are out of tune; It moves us not. Great God! I'd rather be A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn; So might I, standing on this pleasant lea, Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn; Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea; Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn.
Why fades a dream? An iridescent ray Flecked in between the tryst Of night and day. Why fades a dream? -- Of consciousness the shade Wrought out by lack of light and made Upon life's stream. Why fades a dream? That thought may thrive, So fades the fleshless dream; Lest men should learn to trust The things that seem. So fades a dream, That living thought may grow And like a waxing star-beam glow Upon life's stream -- So fades a dream.
The splendour falls on castle walls And snowy summits in old story: The long light shakes across the lakes, And the wild cataract leaps in glory. Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying, Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying.
O hark, O hear! how thin and clear, And thinner, clearer, farther going! O sweet and far from cliff and scar The horns of Elfland faintly blowing! Blow, let us hear the purple glens replying: Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying.
O love, they die in yon rich sky, They faint on hill or field or river: Our echoes roll from soul to soul, And grow for ever and for ever. Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying, And answer, echoes, answer, dying, dying, dying,
On winding pool with willows dim, At narrow strait the lovebirds swim. Green duckweeds float, Barring the lotus-picking boat. Nor butterflies nor bees Love fragrance from the withered trees. When her red petals fall apart, The lotus bloom 's bitter at heart.
The setting sun greets rising tide, The floating clouds bring rain. The swaying lotus seems to confide, Her sorrow to the poet in vain.
Then she would not be wed to vernal breeze. What could she do now autumn drives away wild geese?
Translation: Xu Yuanchong [translator]. 2021. Deep, Deep the Courtyard. [庭院深深.] Cite Publishing: Kuala Lumpur, p.226.
White in the moon the long road lies, The moon stands blank above; White in the moon the long road lies That leads me from my love.
Still hangs the hedge without a gust, Still, still the shadows stay: My feet upon the moonlit dust Pursue the ceaseless way.
The world is round, so travellers tell, And straight though reach the track, Trudge on, trudge on, 'twill all be well, The way will guide one back.
But ere the circle homeward hies, Far, far must it remove: White in the moon the long road lies That leads me from my love.
NOTE: This poem is sometimes titled by its first line or an abbreviated form, thereof. So, it’s sometimes called: “White in the Moon the Long Road Lies.”
In the desert I saw a creature, naked, bestial, Who, squatting upon the ground, Held his heart in his hands, And ate of it. I said, "Is it good, friend?" "It is bitter -- bitter," he answered;
"But I like it "Because it is bitter, "And because it is my heart."
Tiger Riding for Beginners 