You better not fool with a Bumblebee!-- Ef you don't think they can sting -- you'll see! They're lazy to look at, an' kind o' go Buzzin' an' bummin' aroun' so slow, An' ac' so slouchy an' all fagged out, Danglin' their legs as they drone about The hollyhawks 'at they can't climb in 'Ithout ist a-tumble-un out ag'in! Wunst I watched one climb clean 'way In a jimson-blossom, I did, one day,-- An' I ist grabbed it -- an' nen let go-- An' "Ooh-ooh! Honey! I told ye so!" Says The Raggedy Man; an' he ist run An' pullt out the stinger, an' don't laugh none, An' says: "They has be'n folks, I guess, 'At thought I wuz prejudust, more or less, -- Yit I still muntain 'at a Bumblebee Wears out his welcome too quick fer me!"
Are you the new person drawn toward me? To begin with, take warning, I am surely far different from what you suppose; Do you suppose you will find in me your ideal? Do you think it so easy to have me become your lover? Do you think the friendship of me would be unalloy'd satisfaction? Do you think I am trusty and faithful? Do you see no further than this facade, this smooth and tolerant manner of me? Do you suppose yourself advancing on real ground toward a real heroic man? Have you no thought, O dreamer, that is may be all maya, illusion?
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)
Tiger Riding for Beginners 