Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I've tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.
One had a lovely face,
And two or three had charm,
But charm and face were in vain
Because the mountain grass
Cannot but keep the form
Where the mountain hare has lain.
Thousands of willow twigs beyond my bower sway;
They try to retain spring, but she won't stay
For long and goes away.
In vernal breeze the willow down still wafts with grace;
It tries to follow spring to find her dwelling place.
Hills and rills greened all over, I hear cuckoos sing;
Feeling no grief, why should they give me a sharp sting?
With wine cup in hand, I ask spring who won't reply.
When evening grizzles,
A cold rain drizzles.
Translation: Xu Yuanchong [translator]. 2021. Deep, Deep the Courtyard. [庭院深深.] Cite Publishing: Kuala Lumpur, pp. 146-147.
Darest thou now O soul,
Walk out with me toward the unknown region,
Where neither ground is for the feet nor any path to follow?
No map there, nor guide,
Nor voice sounding, nor touch of human hand,
Nor face with blooming flesh, nor lips, nor eyes, are in that land.
I know it not O soul,
Nor dost thou, all is a blank before us,
All waits undream'd of in that region, that inaccessible land.
Till when the ties loosen,
All but the ties eternal, Time and Space,
Nor darkness, gravitation, sense, nor any bounds bounding us.
Then we burst forth, we float,
In Time and Space O soul, prepared for them,
Equal, equipt at last, (O joy! O fruit of all!) them to fulfill O soul.
Mock on, Mock on, Voltaire, Rousseau;
Mock on, Mock on, 'tis all in vain.
You throw the sand against the wind,
And the wind blows it back again.
And every sand becomes a Gem
Reflected in the beams divine;
Blown back, they blind the mocking Eye,
But still in Israel's paths they shine.
The Atoms of Democritus
And Newton's Particles of light
Are sands upon the Red Sea shore
Where Israel's tents do shine so bright.
Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player,
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.
Old trees with tangled hanging tassels
by a deserted temple open to the river.
Rain, rain threw down the clay statues
and wind blew down this ancient building.
Wild birds nest in dusty shrines,
fishermen hold a bamboo lottery cup.
About to play the tune "Mountain Ghost," I stop:
the Verses of Chu make me too sad.
Translation: Barnstone, Tony and Ping, Chou. 2005. The Anchor Book of Chinese Poetry: From Ancient to Contemporary. New York: Anchor Books.
Sound of water cascading over rock.
A silent mountain in the night.
Bright moonlight washes over the pines.
One thousand peaks, all in one color.
"Thou art a fool," said my head to my heart,
"Indeed, the greatest of fools thou art,
To be led astray by the trick of a tress,
By a smiling face or a ribbon smart;"
And my heart was in sore distress.
Then Phyllis came by, and her face was fair,
The light gleamed soft on her raven hair;
And her lips were blooming a rosy red.
Then my heart spoke out with a right bold air:
"Thou art worse than a fool, O head!"
In the face of heavy morning cloud again
And drizzling evening rain,
Leaning on each other, rugged the hills remain.
The Gorge of Witch and lofty peaks
Lock in the Southern Palace rosy cheeks.
In spring the halberds move in force,
Maids in fair dress welcome heroes on horse,
To the riverside town they go only.
I come to the wasteland a thousand miles away,
With my shadow so lonely.
How can I become cheerful and gay?
It is said the Southern land is so high,
It nearly scrapes the sky.
To the capital I stretch my eye,
I see but misty water far and nigh.
When I drank in the hall,
My friends were talents all.
Songstresses sang with rosy face
And dancers danced with grace,
Drunk, they intoxicated the place.
Hearing the cuckoo's home-going song
All the night long,
Could I resist my yearning strong?
Translation: Xu Yuanchong [translator]. 2021. Deep, Deep the Courtyard. [庭院深深.] Cite Publishing: Kuala Lumpur, pp. 191-192.
Tiger Riding for Beginners 