Your grasses up north are as blue as jade, Our mulberries here curve green-threaded branches; And at last you think of returning home, Now when my heart is almost broken.... O breeze of the spring, since I dare not know you, Why part the silk curtains by my bed?
There once was a man, sent on military missions, A wanderer, from youth, on the You and Yan frontiers. Under the horses' hoofs he would meet his foes And, recklessly risking his seven-foot body, Would slay whoever dared confront Those moustaches that bristled like porcupinequills. ...There were dark clouds below the hills, there were white clouds above them, But before a man has served full time, how can he go back? In eastern Liao a girl was waiting, a girl of fifteen years, Deft with a guitar, expert in dance and song. ...She seems to be fluting, even now, a reed-song of home, Filling every soldier's eyes with homesick tears.
The Way is full: use won’t empty it.
Deep is the matrix of the myriad creatures.
Blunt the sharp:
Loosen the knots:
Dim the glare:
Follow old tracks.
Shadowy, it seems hardly there.
I don’t know whose child it is.
It seems like the ancestral form.
Down the blue mountain in the evening, Moonlight was my homeward escort. Looking back, I saw my path Lie in levels of deep shadow.... I was passing the farm-house of a friend, When his children called from a gate of thorn And led me twining through jade bamboos Where green vines caught and held my clothes. And I was glad of a chance to rest And glad of a chance to drink with my friend.... We sang to the tune of the wind in the pines; And we finished our songs as the stars went down, When, I being drunk and my friend more than happy, Between us we forgot the world.
A lonely swan from the sea flies, To alight on puddles it does not deign. Nesting in the poplar of pearls It spies and questions green birds twain: "Don't you fear the threat of slings, Perched on top of branches so high? Nice clothes invite pointing fingers, High climbers god's good will defy. Bird-hunters will crave me in vain, For I roam the limitless sky."
Who is lovelier than she? Yet she lives alone in an empty valley. She tells me she came from a good family Which is humbled now into the dust. ...When trouble arose in the Kuan district, Her brothers and close kin were killed. What use were their high offices, Not even shielding their own lives? – The world has but scorn for adversity; Hope goes out, like the light of a candle. Her husband, with a vagrant heart, Seeks a new face like a new piece of jade; And when morning-glories furl at night And mandarin-ducks lie side by side, All he can see is the smile of the new love, While the old love weeps unheard. The brook was pure in its mountain source, But away from the mountain its waters darken. ...Waiting for her maid to come from selling pearls For straw to cover the roof again, She picks a few flowers, no longer for her hair, And lets pine-needles fall through her fingers, And, forgetting her thin silk sleeve and the cold, She leans in the sunset by a tall bamboo.
Now I'm back, back in Nanjing Getting on with a middling kind of life Between sun and ice, I inhabit The cold shadows of my room Occasionally visiting a nightclub That warm cave Where I am far from eternity or a moment of excitement I'm like any commonplace and painful existence That's all I am
The world before my eyes is wan and wasted, just like me. The earth is decrepit, the sky stormy, all the grass withered. No spring breeze even at this late date, Just winter clouds swallowing up my tiny reed hut.
To wash and rinse our souls of their age-old sorrows, We drained a hundred jugs of wine. A splendid night it was . . . . In the clear moonlight we were loath to go to bed, But at last drunkenness overtook us; And we laid ourselves down on the empty mountain, The earth for pillow, and the great heaven for coverlet.
My heart sank when I headed north from Yan Country To the camps of China echoing ith bugle and drum. ...In an endless cold light of massive snow, Tall flags on three borders rise up like a dawn. War-torches invade the barbarian moonlight, Mountain-clouds like chairmen bear the Great Wall from the sea. ...Though no youthful clerk meant to be a great general, I throw aside my writing-brush – Like the student who tossed off cap for a lariat, I challenge what may come.
New year all not be luxuriant 2nd month first startle see grass shoot White snow but suspect spring colour late So penetrate pavilion tree make fly flower The new year's come, but still the plants don't grow, First in March I'm startled by grass shoots. The white snow thinks the colours of spring are late, So through the pavilion and trees it flies like blossom.
Do not remain in the dualistic state; avoid such pursuits carefully. If there is even a trace of this and that, of right and wrong, the Mind-essence will be lost in confusion. Although all dualities come from the One, do not be attached even to this One. When the mind exists undisturbed in the Way, nothing in the world can offend, and when a thing can no longer offend, it ceases to exist in the old way.
When no discriminating thoughts arise, the old mind ceases to exist. When thought objects vanish, the thinking-subject vanishes. Things are objects because of the subject; the mind is such because of things. Understand the relativity of these two and the basic reality: the unity of emptiness. In this Emptiness the two are indistinguishable and each contains in itself the whole world. If you do not discriminate between coarse and fine you will not be tempted to prejudice and opinion.