Brian O'Linn was a gentleman born,
He lived at a time when no clothes they were worn.
As fashions were out of course Brian walked in--
"I'll soon head the fashions,' says Brian O'Linn.

Brian O'Linn had no breeches to wear,
He got an old sheepskin to make him a pair,
With the fleshy side out and the woolly side in,
"They'll be pleasant and cool,' says Brian O'Linn.

Brian O'Linn had no shirt to his back,
He went to a neighbour's, and borrowed a sack,
Then he puckered the meal bag in under his chin,

write poems when I'm sober, and sing when I'm drunk
I leave my fancy lute untuned,
throw down my book, and sleep.
I don't dream dreams of empire
to have a little idle time is good enough
the sun and moon race like the weaver's shuttle
wealth and rank are blossoms, bloom and fall
spring goes
why not enjoy it?

A blacksmith courted me, nine months and better.
He fairly won my heart, wrote me a letter.
With his hammer in his hand, he looked so clever,
And if I was with my love, I'd live for ever.

And where is my love gone, with his cheek like roses,
And his good black billycock on, decked with primroses?
I'm afraid the scorching sun will shine and burn his beauty,
And if I was with my love, I'd do my duty.

Strange news is come to town, strange news is carried,
Strange news flies up and down that my love is married.

whoever reads my poems
must guard his purity of heart
his greed at once be modesty
flattery suddenly honesty
banish and be rid of evil karma
trust and accept his true nature
get his buddha body today
hurry as if these were orders

Beside the idle summer sea,
And in the vacant summer days,
Light Love came fluting down the ways
Where you were loitering with me.

Who has not welcomed even as we
That jocund minstrel and his lays
Beside the idle summer sea,
And in the vacant summer days?

We listened, we were fancy-free;
And lo! in terror and amaze,
We stood alone--alone at gaze
With an implacable memory,
Beside the idle summer sea.

Peach blossoms are red, willow catkins white,
Shimmering in the sun and swaying in the wind;
Their shape emerges beyond the vermilion walls,
Their fragrance goes back to the blue hall.
Mirrored in the water, parasitic bamboos,
Lying across the hill, a half-dead paulownia tree;
The list of awardees announced, I realize the great bounty;
Grasping my writing tablet, I am chagrined by my paltry talent.

Behold a hag whom Life denies a kiss
As he rides questward in knight-errantwise;
Only when he hath passed her is it his
To know, too late, the Fairy in disguise.

Behind thy pasteboard, on thy battered hack,
Thy lean cheek striped with plaster to and fro,
Thy long spear leveled at the unseen foe,
And doubtful Sancho trudging at thy back,
Thou wert a figure strange enough, good lack!
To make Wiseacredom, both high and low,
Rub purblind eyes, and (having watched thee go),
Dispatch its Dogberrys upon thy track:
Alas! poor Knight! Alas! poor soul possessed!
Yet would to-day, when Courtesy grows chill,
And life's fine loyalties are turned to jest,
Some fire of thine might burn within us still!

Before mine eye to feede my greedy will,
Gan muster eke mine olde acquainted mates,
Who helpt the dish (of vayne delighte) to fill
My empty mouth with dayntye delicates:
And folishe boldenesse toke the whippe in hande,
To lashe my life into this trustlesse trace,
Til all in haste I leapte a loofe from lande,
And hoyste up sayle to catche a Courtly grace:
Eche lingring daye did seeme a world of wo,
Till in that haplesse haven my head was brought:
Waves of wanhope so tost me to and fro,
In deepe dispayre to drowne my dreadfull thought:

At the country inn, thousands of peach trees
are heavy with blossoms:
the best spring scenes are west of the painted bridge.
The hermit has been inspired to search for flowers:
as he sits on horseback, his poem is finished—
but he has lost his way!