Fame is a fickle food
Upon a shifting plate
Whose table once a
Guest but not
The second time is set
Whose crumbs the crows inspect
And with ironic caw
Flap past it to the
Farmer's corn
Men eat of it and die
A birdie with a yellow bill
Hopped upon the window sill,
Cocked his shining eye and said:
"Ain't you 'shamed, you sleepy-head?"
Slender grass waves in a light breeze;
Tall-masted boat rocks in the night.
Stars hang low, over the vast plain;
The river moon struggles for height.
I'll never gain fame by the brush --
Too old for civil service posts...
Wading, wading, what am I like?
A sandpiper on the mud coast!
The original in Chinese (Title: 旅夜書懷):
細草微風岸，
危檣獨夜舟。
星垂平野闊，
月湧大江流。
名豈文章著，
官應老病休。
飄飄何所似，
天地一沙鷗。
This is Poem 113 of “Three Hundred Tang Poems,” i.e. 唐诗三百首
Break, break, break,
On thy cold gray stones, O Sea!
And I would that my tongue could utter
The thoughts that arise in me.
O, well for the fisherman's boy,
That he shouts with his sister at play!
O, well for the sailor lad,
That he sings in his boat on the bay!
And the stately ships go on
To their haven under the hill;
But O for the touch of a vanish'd hand,
And the sound of a voice that is still!
Break, break, break
At the foot of thy crags, O Sea!
But the tender grace of a day that is dead
Will never come back to me.
I see Dragons on the walls
Of temples and market stalls.
From Shanghai to London way,
I've seen them by night and day.
I've seen them skewered by St. George
And belching flame like a forge.
I saw one once in Baku,
But never saw one in a Zoo.
Hanging from the beam,
Slowly swaying (such the law),
Gaunt the shadow on your green,
Shenandoah!
The cut is on the crown
(Lo, John Brown),
And the stabs shall heal no more.
Hidden in the cap
Is the anguish none can draw;
So your future veils its face,
Shenandoah!
But the streaming beard is shown
(Weird John Brown),
The meteor of the war.
Come slowly -- Eden!
Lips unused to Thee --
Bashful -- sip thy Jessamines --
As the fainting Bee --
Reaching late his flower,
Round her chamber hums --
Counts his nectars --
Enters -- and is lost in Balms.
A flower was offer'd to me,
Such a flower as May never bore;
But I said 'I've a Pretty Rose-tree,'
And I passed the sweet flower o'er.
Then I went to my Pretty Rose-tree,
To tend her by day and by night;
But my Rose turn'd away with jealousy,
And her thorns were my only delight.
I met the Bishop on the road
And much said he and I.
'Those breasts are flat and fallen now
Those veins must soon be dry;
Live in a heavenly mansion,
Not in some foul sty.'
'Fair and foul are near of kin,
And fair needs foul,' I cried.
'My friends are gone, but that's a truth
Nor grave nor bed denied,
Learned in bodily lowliness
And in the heart's pride.
'A woman can be proud and stiff
When on love intent;
But Love has pitched his mansion in
The place of excrement;
For nothing can be sole or whole
That has not been rent.'
The poet stands in the Center
And stares into deep mysteries.
He's nourished by reading Classics
And tombs of the men in Histories.
He sighs as four seasons pass by
And thinks upon ten-thousand things.
He's saddened by Autumn's leaf drop
And gladdened by the tender Spring.
He feels Winter's frost on his heart,
Though his mind may be up in a cloud.
And when he sings of ancestors'
Heroic deeds, he belts the song aloud.
He combs through great literature
Just as he roams the forest wild,
But in search of a "natural" --
Shown in elegant phrase and style.
And it's just such thoughts and feelings
That set my brush and mind wheeling.
The Original Chinese:
佇中區以玄覽，頤情志於典墳。
遵四時以嘆逝，瞻萬物而思紛。
悲落葉於勁秋，喜柔條於芳春，
心懍懍以懷霜，志眇眇而臨雲。
詠世德之駿烈，誦先人之清芬。
游文章之林府，嘉麗藻之彬彬。
慨投篇而援筆，聊宣之乎斯文。
Tiger Riding for Beginners 