The day is cold, and dark, and dreary; It rains, and the wind is never weary; The vine still clings to the mouldering wall, But at every gust the dead leaves fall, And the day is dark and dreary.
My life is cold, and dark, and dreary; It rains, and the wind is never weary; My thoughts still cling to the mouldering past, But the hopes of youth fall thick in the blast, And the days are dark and dreary.
Be still, sad heart, and cease repining; Behind the clouds is the sun still shining; Thy fate is the common fate of all, Into each life some rain must fall, Some days must be dark and dreary.
With wear you will decay outside, But inside resides the vital force. Approach the Absolute through the Void: One's strength will grow, and vim will course. You can know the world and its Way, Across space and time -- to the Source. To desolation range hang dark clouds, Air still as latitudes of the horse, Move beyond all one knows by sight, And gain the Center -- but not by force -- Hold onto this strength by hook or crook, And flow the Endless by watercourse.
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 crude translation of the first of the twenty-four poems. This poem’s Chinese title is 雄浑, and its translated titles include: “Energy – Absolute” [Giles] and “Vigorous.”
Adrift on West Lake in a wine-laden, colorful skiff: As flutes play fast and lutes, deftly And a jade cup circuits swiftly, The boat's calm rocking lulls the drunk into sleep.
Thin clouds seem to float right under the rudderless boat. The water's blue matches the sky's, As lake to sky and back move eyes, "Do the clouds above match those that in the water float?"
The fountains mingle with the river And the rivers with the ocean, The winds of heaven mix forever With a sweet emotion; Nothing in the world is single; All things by a law divine In one spirit meet and mingle. Why not I with thine? --
See the mountains kiss high heaven And the waves clasp one another; No sister-flower would be forgiven If it disdained its brother; And the sunlight clasps the earth And the moonbeams kiss the sea: What is all this sweet work worth If thou kiss not me?
Where is the grave of Sir Arthur O'Kellyn? Where may the grave of that good man be? -- By the side of a spring, on the breast of Helvellyn, Under the twigs of a young birch tree! The oak that in summer was sweet to hear, And rustled its leaves in the fall of the year, And whistled and roared in the winter alone, Is gone, -- and the birch in its stead has grown. -- The Knight's bones are dust, And his good sword rust; -- His soul is with the saints, I trust.
I made my song a coat Covered with embroideries Out of old mythologies From heel to throat; But the fools caught it, Wore it in the world's eyes As though they'd wrought it. Song, let them take it For there's more enterprise In walking naked.
Tiger Riding for Beginners 