Part 13

Swiftly and soon the golden sun goes down, The blue sky wells afar into the night. Tao is the changeful world's environment; Happy are they that in its laws delight.

Tao gives me toil, youth's passion to achieve, And leisure in life's autumn and decay. I follow Tao -- the seasons are my friends; Opposing it misfortunes come my way.

Within my breast no sorrows can abide; I feel the great world's spirit through me thrill, And as a cloud I drift before the wind, Or with the random swallow take my will.

As underneath the mulberry-tree I dream, The water-clock drips on, and dawn appears: A new day shines on wrinkles and white hair, The symbols of the fulness of my years.

If I depart, I cast no look behind: Still wed to life, I still am free from care. Since life and death in cycles come and go, Of little moments are the days to spare.

Thus strong in faith I wait, and long to be One with the pulsings of Eternity.

-- * Literally, "The Way". --

Sleeplessness

I cannot rest when the cool is gone from June, But haunt the dim verandah till the moon Fades from the dawn's pursuit. The stirrup-fires beneath the terrace flare; Over the star-domed court a low, sad air Roams from a hidden lute.

This endless heat doth urge me to extremes; Yet cool of autumn waits till the wild goose screams In the track of whirling skies. My hand is laid upon the cup once more, And of the red-gold vintage I implore The sleep that night denies.

The Grass

How beautiful and fresh the grass returns! When golden days decline, the meadow burns; Yet autumn suns no hidden root have slain, The spring winds blow, and there is grass again.

Green rioting on olden ways it falls: The blue sky storms the ruined city walls; Yet since Wang Sun departed long ago, When the grass blooms both joy and fear I know.

Autumn across the Frontier

The last red leaves droop sadly o'er the slain; In the long tower my cup of wine I drain, Watching the mist-flocks driven through the hills, And great blown roses ravished by the rain.

The beach tints linger down the frontier line, And sounding waters shimmer to the brine; Over the Yellow Kingdom breaks the sun, Yet dreams, and woodlands, and the chase are mine.

The Flower Fair

The city walls rise up to greet Spring's luminous twilight hours; The clamour of carts goes down the street: This is the Fair of Flowers. Leisure and pleasure drift along, Beggar and marquis join the throng, And care, humility, rank, and pride In the sight of the flowers are laid aside. Bright, oh! bright are a thousand shades, Crimson splashes and slender blades With five white fillets bound. Tents are here that will cover all, Ringed with trellis and leafy wall, And the dust is laid around. Naught but life doth here display; The dying flower is cast away; Families meet and intermingle, Lovers are parted, and friends go single. One ambition all avow -- A roof to harbour, a field to plough. See, they come to the Flower Fair, Youth and maiden, a laughing pair. Bowed and sighing the greybeard wends Alone to the mart where sighing ends. For here is a burden all may bear, The crimson and gold of the Flower Fair.

The Penalties of Rank

Three score and ten! A slave to office yet! In the Li Chi these luminous words befall: "The lust for honours honours not at all," Here is the golden line we most forget.

Alas! how these long years afflict a man! When teeth are gone, and failing eyes grow dim. The morning dews brought dreams of fame to him Who bears in dusk the burdens of his clan.

His eyes still linger on the tassel blue, And still the red sedan of rank appeals, But his shrunk belly scarce the girdle feels As, bowed, he crawls the Prince's Gateway through.

Where is the man that would not wealth acclaim? Who would not truckle for his sovereign's grace? Yet years of high renown their furrows trace, And greatness overwhelms the weary frame.

The springs of laughter flow not from his heart, Where bide the dust and glamour of old days. Who walks alone in contemplation's ways? 'TIS HE, THE HAPPY MAN, WHO DWELLS APART.

The Island of Pines

Across the willow-lake a temple shines, Pale, through the lotus-girdled isle of pines, And twilight listens to the drip of oars -- The coming of dark boats with scented stores Of orange seed; the mist leans from the hill, While palm leaves sway 'twixt wind and water chill, And waves of smoke like phantoms rise and fade Into a trembling tangle of green jade. I dream strange dreams within my tower room, Dreams from the glimmering realms of even gloom; Until each princely guest doth, landing, raise His eyes, upon the full-orbed moon to gaze -- The old moon-palace that in ocean stands Mid clouds of thistle-down and jewelled strands.

Springtide

The lonely convent on the hill Draws merchants faring from the west; Almost upon the waters still The quiet clouds lean down and rest.