All alone in a foreign land,
I am twice as homesick on this day
When brothers carry dogwood up the mountain,
Each of them a branch—and my branch missing.

I've been taking dictation
From the universe
For quite a while.
I've got a bunch of notes:
Now it's time to transcribe them.
Queer —
I can't seem
To make sense out of them.

Why hast thou forgotten in telling of beads?
For chanting the name of Rama thou hast the rosary of Tulsi: for covering the deer skin,
For food and water thou hast forest roots and fruits: for dwelling a grove of Tamala trees.
Lose not thyself in wealth and health and pride: lest death rob thee of thy rest.
By night by day, repeat the name of Hari: moment by moment be inebriate with His love.
Beside Hari there is no friend in all the world: all worldly ties are false.

Breaking in a new idea
Is like breaking in a new pipe:
Uncomfortable work.
I like the old familiar thoughts,
No bite or parch.

Oh! the camellia, which ne'er
Appears like dropping till it drops.

Under blue mountains we wound our way,
My boat and I, along green water;
Until the banks at low tide widened,
With no wind stirring my lone sail.
... Night now yields to a sea of sun,
And the old year melts in freshets.
At last I can send my messengers —
Wildgeese, homing to Lo-yang.

The worst moment
In my life
Is when I am cleaning up the cellar
And find my magenta tie,
Three frayed soft collars,
And the dear old brown pair of trousers
In the trash-box
Where my wife put them.

By this wall that surrounds the three Ch'in districts,
Through a mist that makes five rivers one,
We bid each other a sad farewell,
We two officials going opposite ways. . . .
And yet, while China holds our friendship,
And heaven remains our neighbourhood,
Why should you linger at the fork of the road,
Wiping your eyes like a heart-broken child?

Oh! little butterfly, with wings
Still moving even when it lights!

And when the boatmen have made up
Their quarrel, oh! then 'tis the frogs.