ON A BOX
CONTAINING
HIS OWN WORKS
I break up cypress and make a book-box;
The box well-made,--and the cypress-wood tough.
I break up cypress and make a book-box;
The box well-made,--and the cypress-wood tough.
Waley - 170 Chinese Poems
REALIZING THE FUTILITY OF LIFE
Written on the wall of a priest's cell, _circa_ 828
Ever since the time when I was a lusty boy
Down till now when I am ill and old,
The things I have cared for have been different at different times,
But my being _busy_, _that_ has never changed.
_Then_ on the shore,--building sand-pagodas;
_Now_, at Court, covered with tinkling jade.
This and that,--equally childish games,
Things whose substance passes in a moment of time!
While the hands are busy, the heart cannot understand;
When there are no Scriptures, then Doctrine is sound. [87]
Even should one zealously strive to learn the Way,
That very striving will make one's error more.
[87] This is the teaching of the Dhyana Sect.
RISING LATE AND PLAYING WITH A-TS'UI, AGED TWO
Written in 831
All the morning I have lain perversely in bed;
Now at dusk I rise with many yawns.
My warm stove is quick to get ablaze;
At the cold mirror I am slow in doing my hair.
With melted snow I boil fragrant tea;
Seasoned with curds I cook a milk-pudding.
At my sloth and greed there is no one but me to laugh;
My cheerful vigour none but myself knows.
The taste of my wine is mild and works no poison;
The notes of my harp are soft and bring no sadness.
To the Three Joys in the book of Mencius[88]
I have added the fourth of playing with my baby-boy.
[88] "Mencius," bk. vii, pt. i, 20.
ON A BOX CONTAINING HIS OWN WORKS
I break up cypress and make a book-box;
The box well-made,--and the cypress-wood tough.
In it shall be kept what author's works?
The inscription says PO LO-T'IEN.
All my life has been spent in writing books,
From when I was young till now that I am old.
First and last,--seventy whole volumes;
Big and little,--three thousand themes. [89]
Well I know in the end they'll be scattered and lost;
But I cannot bear to see them thrown away
With my own hand I open and shut the locks,
And put it carefully in front of the book-curtain.
I am like T? ng Pai-tao;[90]
But to-day there is not any Wang Ts'an. [91]
All I can do is to divide them among my daughters
To be left by them to give to my grandchildren.
[89] _I. e. _, separate poems, essays, etc.
[90] Who was obliged to abandon his only child on the roadside.
[91] Who rescued a foundling.
ON BEING SIXTY
Addressed to Liu M? ng-t?
