CYPRESS BOAT Tossed is that cypress boat, Wave-tossed it floats. My heart is in turmoil. I cannot sleep. But secret is my grief. Wine I have, all things needful For play, for sport. My heart is not a mirror, To reflect what others will. Brothers too I have; I cannot be snatched away. But lo, when I told them of my plight I found that they were angry with me. My heart is not a stone; It cannot be rolled. My heart is not a mat; It cannot be folded away. I have borne myself correctly In rites more than can be numbered. My sad heart is consumed. I am harassed By a host of small men. I have borne vexations very many, Received insults not a few. In the still of night I brood upon it; In the waking hours I rend my breast. O sun, ah, moon Why are you changed and dim? Sorrow clings to me Like an unwashed dress. In the still of night I brood upon it, Long to take wing and fly away. FROM: The Airs of Bei 26-44 THE BOOK OF SONGS The Ancient Chinese Classic of Poetry Translated by Arthur Waley Grove Press
THE CREEKSIDE HERMIT 