She's slender hands and pretty lips,
And seafoam and rosemary.
Her ears are pointed at the tips,
She stayed so long in Fairy.
“Chemical Analysis” by Stephen Vincent Benet [w/ Audio]
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Towards noon fleecy clouds waft in the gentle breeze;
I cross the stream amid flowers and willow trees.
What do the worldlings know about my hearty pleasure?
They'd only take me for a truant fond of leisure.
Note: This is the joint translation of Xu Yuanchong and Xu Ming found in the edition of Golden Treasury of Quatrains and Octaves on which they collaborated (i.e. China Publishing Group: Beijing (2008.))
We should not mind so small a flower
Except it quiet bring
Our little garden that we lost
Back to the Lawn again -
So spicy her Carnations nod -
So drunken, reel her Bees -
So silver, steal a hundred flutes
From out a hundred trees -
That whoso sees this little flower
By faith, may clear behold
The Bobolinks around the throne
And Dandelions gold.
Moving through the Great Spontaneous,
Blender blades barely missing --
In fact, sometimes nicking.
The accumulation of those nicks
Is aging.
It takes an ever-defter dance to keep
The damage buildup to a constant pace --
Not letting it blitz one,
Or pull one into the turbine:
Like a goose through
The turbofans of a 787.
A goose may kill a plane,
But becomes dust in the process.
When one surrenders to the choppers
One will not have the satisfaction
Of killing the vehicle,
Of bringing it all down.
The Universe will go on,
And one's molecules will become
Something new.
Although she feeds me bread of bitterness,
And sinks into my throat her tiger’s tooth,
Stealing my breath of life, I will confess
I love this cultured hell that tests my youth.
Her vigor flows like tides into my blood,
Giving me strength erect against her hate,
Her bigness sweeps my being like a flood.
Yet, as a rebel fronts a king in state,
I stand within her walls with not a shred
Of terror, malice, not a word of jeer.
Darkly I gaze into the days ahead,
And see her might and granite wonders there,
Beneath the touch of Time’s unerring hand,
Like priceless treasures sinking in the sand.
The summer sun is sinking low;
Only the tree-tops redden and glow:
Only the weathercock on the spire
Of the neighboring church is a flame of fire;
All is in shadow below.
O beautiful, awful summer day,
What hast thou given, what taken away?
Life and death, and love and hate,
Homes made happy or desolate,
Hearts made sad or gay!
On the road of life one mile-stone more!
In the book of life one leaf turned o'er!
Like a red seal is the setting sun
On the good and the evil men have done,--
Naught can to-day restore!
There is no revenge so complete as forgiveness.
Josh billings
Everything in the universe is a jug
Rumi, Masnavi
filled to the brim with wisdom and beauty.
Poetry is what gets lost in translation.
Robert frost
“Travel and tell no one, live a true love story and tell no one,
Kahlil gibran
live happily and tell no one, people ruin beautiful things.”
Not all those who wander are lost.
J.r.r. Tolkien, The lord of the rings