Nuns fret not at their convent's narrow room; And hermits are contented with their cells; And students with their pensive citadels; Maids at the wheel, the weaver at his loom, Sit blithe and happy; bees that soar for bloom, High as the highest Peak of Furness-fells, Will murmur by the hour in foxglove bells: In truth the prison, into which we doom Ourselves, no prison is: and hence for me, In sundry moods, 'twas pastime to be bound Within the Sonnet's scanty plot of ground; Pleased if some Souls (for such there needs must be) Who have felt the weight of too much liberty, Should find brief solace there, as I have found.
Yes, I have a thousand tongues, And nine and ninety-nine lie. Though I strive to use the one, It will make no melody at my will, But is dead in my mouth.
Under the trees, among the rocks, a thatched hut: verses and sacred commentaries live there together. I'll burn the books I carry in my bag, but how can I forget the verses written in my gut?
Translation by Kazuaki Tanahashi and David Schneider in Essential Zen (1994) HarperSanFrancisco.
Half of my life is gone, and I have let The years slip from me and have not fulfilled The aspiration of my youth, to build Some tower of song with lofty parapet. Not indolence, nor pleasure, nor the fret Of restless passions that would not be stilled, But sorrow, and a care that almost killed, Kept me from what I may accomplish yet; Though, half-way up the hill, I see the Past Lying beneath me with its sounds and sights, -- A city in the twilight dim and vast, With smoking roofs, soft bells, and gleaming lights, -- And hear above me on the autumnal blast The cataract of Death far thundering from the heights.
He thought he saw an Elephant, That practised on a fife: He looked again, and found it was A letter from his wife. "At length I realize," he said, "The bitterness of Life!"
He thought he saw a Buffalo Upon the chimney-piece: He looked again, and found it was His Sister's Husband's Niece, "Unless you leave this house," he said, "I'll send for the Police!"
He thought he saw a Rattlesnake That questioned him in Greek: He looked again, and found it was The Middle of Next Week. "The one thing I regret," he said, "Is that it cannot speak!"
He thought he saw a Banker's Clerk Descending from the 'bus: He looked again, and found it was A Hippopotamus. "If this should stay to dine," he said, "There won't be much for us!"
He thought he saw a Kangaroo That worked a coffee-mill: He looked again, and found it was A Vegetable-Pill. "Were I to swallow this," he said, "I should be very ill!"
He thought he saw a Coach-and-Four That stood beside his bed: He looked again, and found it was A Bear without a Head. "Poor thing," he said, "poor silly thing! It's waiting to be fed!"
He thought he saw an Albatross That fluttered round the lamp: He looked again, and found it was A Penny-Postage-Stamp. "You'd best be getting home," he said, "The nights are very damp!"
He thought he saw a Garden-Door That opened with a key: He looked again, and found it was A Double Rule of Three: "And all its mystery," he said, "Is clear as day to me!"
He thought he saw an Argument That proved he was the Pope: He looked again, and found it was A Bar of Mottled Soap. "A fact so dread," he faintly said, "Extinguishes all hope!"
West Lake is beautiful from a small boat. Green water wends its way through the lotus, Sweet grass grows thickly all along the bank, Faint music wafts from unknown points ashore.
When the wind quits, the Lake is glassy smooth; The boat is perfectly still for a beat, Then its movement is betrayed by ripples And startled waterfowls' furious flapping.
Note: The title “Gathering Mulberry Leaves” was used by Xu Yuanchong for his translation. The Chinese title is: 採桑子 (Cǎi Sāngzǐ)
The world below the brine, Forests at the bottom of the sea, the branches and leaves, Sea-lettuce, vast lichens, strange flowers and seeds, the thick tangle, openings, and pink turf, Different colors, pale gray and green, purple, white, and gold, the play of light through the water, Dumb swimmers there among the rocks, coral, gluten, grass, rushes, and the aliment of the swimmers, Sluggish existences grazing there suspended, or slowly crawling close to the bottom, The sperm-whale at the surface blowing air and spray, or disporting with his flukes, The leaden-eyed shark, the walrus, the turtle, the hairy sea-leopard, and the sting-ray, Passions there, wars, pursuits, tribes, sight in those ocean-depths, breathing that thick-breathing air, as many do, The change thence to the sight here, and to the subtle air breathed by beings like us who walk this sphere, The change onward from ours to that of beings who walk other spheres.
Four Seasons fill the measure of the year; There are four seasons in the mind of man: He has his lusty Spring, when fancy clear Takes in all beauty with an easy span: He has his Summer, when luxuriously Spring's honied cud of youthful thought he loves To ruminate, and by such dreaming high Is nearest unto heaven: quiet coves His soul has in its Autumn, when his wings He furleth close; contented so to look On mists in idleness -- to let fair things Pass by unheeded as a threshold brook. He has his Winter too of pale misfeature, Or else he would forego his mortal nature.
Tiger Riding for Beginners 