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."
Wavelet on wavelet glimmers by the shore; Cloud on cloud dimly appears in the sky. Unsaddled is my white-jadelike horse; Drunk, asleep in the sweet grass I'll lie. My horse's hoofs may break, I'm afraid, The breeze-rippled brook paved by moonlit jade. I tether my horse to a bough of green willow. Near the bridge where I pillow My head on arms and sleep till the cuckoo's song awakes A spring daybreak.
Translation: Xu Yuanchong [translator]. 2021. Deep, Deep the Courtyard. [庭院深深.] Cite Publishing: Kuala Lumpur, p. 238
Who are you, reader, reading my poems my poems an hundred years hence? I cannot send you one single flower from this wealth of the spring, one single streak of gold from yonder clouds. Open your doors and look abroad.
From your blossoming garden gather fragrant memories of the vanished flowers of an hundred years before. In the joy of your heart may you feel the living joy that sang one spring morning, sending its glad voice across an hundred years.
When I consider how my light is spent, Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide, And that one Talent which is death to hide Lodged with me useless, though my Soul more bent To serve therewith my Maker, and present My true account, lest he returning chide, "Doth God exact day-labour, light denied?" I fondly ask. But patience, to prevent That murmur, soon replies, "God doth not need Either man's work or his own gifts; who best Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best. His State Is Kingly. Thousands at his bidding speed And post o'er Land and Ocean without rest: They also serve who only stand and wait."
NOTE: This poem is sometimes called “Sonnet 19,” sometimes “On His Blindness,” and sometimes “When I Consider How My Light Is Spent.”
Tiger Riding for Beginners 