＜＜飞 鸟 集＞＞
The dust receives insult and in return offers her flowers.
Do not linger to gather flowers to keep them, but walk on,
for flowers will keep themselves blooming all your way.
Roots are the branches down in the earth.
Branches are roots in the air.
The music of the far-away summer flutters around the Autumn seeking
its former nest.
Do not insult your friend by lending him merits from your own pocket.
The touch of the nameless days clings to my heart like mosses round
the old tree.
The echo mocks her origin to prove she is the original.
God is ashamed when the prosperous boasts of His special favour.
I cast my own shadow upon my path, because I have a lamp that has not
Man goes into the noisy crowed to drown his own clamour of silence.
That which ends in exhaustion is death, but the perfect ending is
in the endless.
The sun has his simple rode of light. The clouds are decked with
The hills are like shouts of children who raise their arms, trying
to catch stars.
The road is lonely in its crowd for it is not loved.
The power that boasts of its mischiefs is laughed at by the yellow
leaves that fall, and clouds that pass by.
The earth hums to me today in the sun, like a woman at her spinning,
some ballad of the ancient time in a forgotten tongue.
the grass-blade is worthy of the great world where it grows.
Dream is a wife who must talk,
Sleep is a husband who silently suffers.
The night kisses the fading day whispering to his ear, I am death,
your mother. I am to give you fresh birth.
I feel thy beauty, dark night, like that of the loved woman when
she has put out the lamp.
I carry in my world that flourishes the worlds that have failed.
Dear friend, I feel the silence of your great thoughts of many a
deepening eventide on this beach when I listen to these waves.
The bird thinks it is an act of kindness to give the fish a life
in the air.
In the moon thou sendest thy love letters to me,
I leave my answers in tears upon the grass.
The great is a born child; when he dies he gives his great childhood
to the world.
Not hammer-strokes, but dance of the water sings the pebbles
Bees sip honey from flowers and hum their thanks when they leave.
The gaudy butterfly is sure that the flowers owe thanks to him.
To be outspoken is easy when you do not wait to speak the complete truth.
Asks the Possible to the Impossible,
Where is your dwelling-place?
In the dreams of the impotent, comes the answer.
If you shut your door to all errors truth will be shut out.