Page:Anthology of Japanese Literature.pdf/317

I lay sick by the low window, propped on a crooked bed,
And thought how orderly the universe is.
A white bird flew across the dark sky;
And my mind rolled forth ten thousand feet.

Judge for yourself if the weather be hot or cold;
A fellow must not be cheated by others.
And see that you take not Japan’s good gold
And barter it off for Chinese brass!

The old man of the village suddenly called us back
To drink three cups beneath the crooked mulberry.
Mankind is small but this drunkenness wide and great—
Where now is Japan, where your Korea?

I have locked the gate on a thousand peaks
To live here with clouds and birds.
All day I watch the hills
As clear winds fill the bamboo door.
A supper of pine flowers,
Monk’s robes of chestnut dye—
What dream does the world hold
To lure me from these dark slopes?