When from his cave, young Mao in his youthful mind
A work to renew old China first designed,
Then he alone interpreted the law,
and from tradtional fountains scorned to draw:
But when to examine every part he came,
Marx and Confucius turned out much the same.

not on my lips look for your mouth,
not in front of the gate for the stranger,
not in the eye for the tear.

seven nights higher red makes for red,
seven hearts deeper the hand knocks on the gate,
seven roses later plashes the fountain.

Yellow clouds beside the walls; crows near the tower.
Flying back, they caw, caw; calling in the boughs.
In the loom she weaves brocade, the Qin river girl.
Made of emerald yarn like mist, the window hides her words.
She stops the shuttle, sorrowful, and thinks of the distant man.
She stays alone in the lonely room, her tears just like the rain.

There are too many kids in this tub
There are too many elbows to scrub
I just washed a behind that I'm sure wasn't mine
There are too many kids in this tub.

Every morning a crow
Crows harshly by the window
If I were a crow
I’ll build a house
By the cold shade of the tree
I’ll wait for you for years after years
Counting every seconds.

Senescence begins
And middle age ends
The day your descendents
Outnumber your friends.

Crossing long fields,
frozen in its saddle,
my shadow creeps by

This is no longer a song, no human
hum. It can be heard reaching
as a last cry, in the depths of night,
of someone who has died.

Hvad Publikum har fundet for et Hold
I hans Produkter er mig ubegribeligt;
Thi allevegne seer man i hans Digt:
En nøgen Philosoph og en paaklædt Apoll.

When you are mixed with many I descry
A single light, and judge the rest thereby.
But when you are alone with me, why then,
I quite forget all women and all men.